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TENDING UPWARD 




BY y 

MAKY B. WILLEY. 



THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
1122 Chestnut Street, 

New York: io Bible House, 

1893. 




TO THE FEIENDS 

WHO HAVE SHOWN A KINDLY INTEREST 
IN MY WORK 

THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 


I 


[Copyright, 1893, by The American Sunday-School Union.] 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

CHAPTER L 

The Night on the Prairie .... 7 

CHAPTER II. 

An Unhappy Day 23 

CHAPTER III. 

United Life-Currents 30 

CHAPTER IV. 

Housekeeping 39 

CHAPTER V. 

Changes 48 

CHAPTER VI. 

Granny Maxin 53 

CHAPTER VII. 

Arminta 59 

CHAPTER VHI. 

Aunt Hannah 66 

CHAPTER IX. 

Forebodings 77 

CHAPTER X. 

Developments 85 

CHAPTER XI. 

Housecleaning 95 


( 5 ) 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Robert Sinton 108 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Custard Pie 114 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Caught in His Own Trap .... 120 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Birthday Party 134 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Seasonable Word 149 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Granny Maxin’s Speech ..... 163 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Which? 172 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Fred 183 

CHAPTER XX. 

Reflex Influence 191 

CHAPTER XXL 

He Calleth for Thee 206 

CHAPTER XXII. 

“Spirits Anear.” 217 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Music in the Air 221 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Strike 231 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Wedding 251 


TENDING UPWARD. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE NIGHT ON THE PRAIKIE. 

“ I HAVE read, in the marvelous heart of man, 

That strange and mystic scroll ; 

That an army of phantoms, vast and wan, 
Beleaguer, the human soul.’^ 

rpHEE reminds me, Arminty, of something 
which occurred when Robert was a little 
boy. One day he went to the village with his 
father, and while there visited a jeweler’s store. 
In the show-case of this store was what seemed 
to him a wonderful ring. It was a little gold 
band with an enameled heart on the back. On 
his way home Robert talked of nothing but 
this wonderful ring. He described it to each 
member of the home circle in turn, always end- 
ing with a reference to the ‘beautiful heart’ 
on the back of it. His admiration merged into 
an intense desire to become the owner of that 
wonderful ring. 

“ It was rather an expensive article of jewelry 

( 7 ) 


8 


TENDING UPWAED. 


for a small boy, but his father, seeing how his 
heart was set upon the matter, and disliking to 
grieve him by refusal, told him that if he would 
earn half the money required he would give 
him the other half, and the ring should be his. 

“ A happier boy than Robert was then, thee 
can scarcely imagine. He at once set about 
finding something to do by which he could 
earn his share of the money; but this was not 
so easy. No one wanted the services of a small 
boy just then and it was some days before he 
made a success of it. Finally he heard a lady, 
who was calling on his mother, speak of want- 
ing to get a man to remove a pile of wood from 
her yard to the woodshed. He could hardly 
wait for a pause in the conversation before he 
sidled up to his mother, and eagerly requested 
her to ask the lady to let him put in the wood. 

‘‘ It seemed a hard job for so small a boy, but 
he was so anxious to do it that he was allowed 
to make the attempt. 

“ He made a success of it and thus secured the 
desired sum. What a day it was for him when 
he made his purchase ! He went to the village 
alone, and came home richer in his possession 
than the millionaire in his hoarded store, for he 
was both happy and content. But like other 
earthly joys, his happiness had its measure. 
Some one suggested the idea of his losing the 


THE NIGHT ON THE PEAIEIE. 


9 


ring, which idea was as a worm gnawing at the 
root of his joy. 

“ On the day that the idea of possible loss of 
his cherished treasure impressed itself upon his 
mind, he took the ring to his mother and asked 
her to keep it for him. 

“ She put it in a safe place, where he could 
look at it as often as he pleased. Then he was 
happy again, for he seemed to have no idea of 
a possibility of failure on the part of his mother 
to keep what he had committed to her care. 
Now, isn’t that just what thee needs, Arminty, 
— to commit things unto God, as Robert com- 
mitted the ring to his mother, and then go on 
content and happy, just as he did ? 

“ Did I ever tell thee of my night of watch- 
ing on the prairie ? 

‘‘We were young then, Zekiel and I — young 
and strong both of heart and limb. We went 
west soon after we were married. We settled 
far from any town and our nearest neighbor was 
five miles away. I stayed with this neighbor 
until our log house was put up. Thee wouldn’t 
think it much of a house now, but to us it 
meant home in the early days of our married 
life, and we were very happy. Our furniture 
was scanty, for we had but little money, and all 
of this which we could possibly spare had to go 
toward buying a yoke of oxen ; for Zekiel could 


10 


TENDING UPWARD. 


not work his land without a team, and horses 
were much too expensive for our use. 

“ How much those oxen were to us ! I can see 
them now, as they used to come up to the house 
■ — at first for the salt, and then for the petting 
with which I used to favor them — looking so 
large and powerful, but they were as gentle as 
could be. They were black as jet, and I named 
them Mink and Tony. Each learned to know 
his name, and they would come at my call as far 
as they could hear the sound of my voice. I 
saved Zekiel many a long tramp over the prairie 
through my power over them. 

‘‘In the fall my brother in ‘York State’ sent 
me a young watch dog, and a deal of company 
he was for me. My brother named him ‘True.’ 
Around his neck was a collar which bore this 
name, and my mother wrote me that as brother 
Dan fastened on the collar and put the dog in 
the box in which he was to be sent, with tears 
in his eyes, he told him to prove worthy of the 
name by taking good care of sister Hannah. 
Had True possessed reasoning faculties he could 
scarcely have proved more faithful to this 
charge. He was my constant companion and 
would let nothing come near me without my 
permission. At first he was very jealous of 
Mink and Tony, but in time they became the 
best of friends. 


THE NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE. 


11 


“ When little Robbie came he seemed to con- 
sider it his duty to exercise the same watch- 
care over him as over me, and I never was 
afraid of his letting any thing come near the 
child without a warning bark. I often used to 
place Robbie’s cradle outside the cottage in the 
shade telling True to take care of him, and no 
one could induce him to leave the cradle until 
I gave him permission to go, or took Robbie 
away. Even Zekiel could not take Robbie 
away if I had set True to watch, but if he had 
appointed the watcher I had no trouble. 

“ One day I heard True making a great fuss, 
and on going to see what was the matter I 
found a large rattlesnake coiled and just ready 
to make a spring toward Robbie, who was lean- 
ing over the side of the cradle. 

“ When Robbie got so that he could run alone. 
True was of still greater service to me, such 
was the danger of a child wandering away and 
getting lost in the tall prairie grass and weeds 
which surrounded the cottage. I could not 
have let him go out of doors much, I was so 
busy indoors, but for the watch-care of the dog, 
whose instinct seemed truly wonderful as it was 
many times exhibited. 

“ One day I called True from his post as 
watcher to drive away some prairie chickens 
which were picking up some seeds which I had 


12 


TENDIN-G UPWARD. 


just sowed. I intended looking after Robbie 
myself and seemingly lost sight of him only a 
minute, but when I looked for him he was 
gone. I called him but there was no response. 
I was terribly frightened, for on account of the 
prairie grass and weeds, there was no telling 
which way the child had gone. Zekiel was not 
at home and there was no one whom I could 
send in any direction while I searched else- 
where. 

In my dilemma I called True and he came 
with a bound. At once he seemed to under- 
stand the state of things, for he rushed to the 
spot where he had left Robbie, then, with a 
peculiar spring, which he made when he wished 
to see far away, and a sniff which indicated that 
he was governed by scent in his course, he started 
off at full speed. I followed as fast as the tall 
grass and my fright would permit, but made 
slow progress. After a time I heard True 
bark, and following in the direction indicated 
by the sound, I reached Robbie just in time to 
prevent his falling into a deep ditch which had 
been washed out by recent rain. 

^‘But what I was going to tell thee was this: 
— I was a great hand to borrow trouble. As I 
look back over the years, I can now see that the 
most really unhappy days of my life were 


THE NIGHT ON THE PEAIRIE. 


13 


those which were given np to that kind of bor- 
rowing. 

« For real troubles and trials we are promised 
strength as our day, but for that which we take 
upon ourselves unnecessarily our only remedy 
is in throwing it off, and this we are not apt to 
be ready to do. 

“Now Zekiel was just my opposite in this 
matter for he never seemed to worry. He used 
to call me his ‘ What if,’ and to say that as I bor- 
rowed trouble enough for both it wasn’t neces- 
sary for him to worry. Sometimes he would 
laugh at me, and again he would talk to me most 
seriously but kindly of the folly of making my- 
self so unhappy over what might never happen. 
He said that early in life his mother taught him 
this principle: — ‘If you can do anything to 
make matters better, DO IT : and if not, don’t 
worry over what you can’t help.’ 

“ So long as we lived without near neighbors, 
if Zekiel left home he always took me with him 
if he could. The nearest place where we could 
get provisions was twelve miles away. When 
Robbie was about two years old, Zekiel came in 
one morning and told me that we had better go 
to the town and get the supplies which we had 
wanted so long. 

“ How well I remember the day ! It was late 
in August, and although the weather was 


14 


TENDING UPWARD. 


warm, he had chosen a day when he thought it 
would not be uncomfortable for Robbie and me. 
Of course we had to go with the ox team for 
we had no other, and our wagon was not quite 
such an one as I saw thee riding in this after- 
noon. It was a heavy two-wheeled cart, and 
we used chairs for seats. 

“We started early in the morning and Mink 
and Tony did their best for us, but with the 
distance, and the time spent in shopping, it was 
sundown before we started on the return trip. 
Thee may wonder that we did not stop and 
stay over night on the road, but there were 
only three houses on our route and these were 
all near the town, so, once having passed those, 
there was nothing to do but get home as 
quickly as possible. 

“ The cattle were rested and traveled nicely ; 
Robbie slept, Zekiel and I had our purchases 
to talk over, and for a time all went well. The 
sky was cloudless and the starlight sufficient to 
make traveling both safe and pleasant. As we 
drew near home we reached a marshy district 
where a fog was slowly rising. Soon this fog 
became so dense that Zekiel could not tell 
where to guide the oxen, and it was not long 
before we became conscious that there was 
danger of losing our way, and getting too 
deeply into the mire with which the marsh 


THE NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE. 


15 


abounded. Still we kept on, guided as we 
thought by way-marks, when to our surprise 
we found ourselves coming to a point which we 
knew we had passed an hour before. 

“ Having never had this experience, thee can 
scarcely imagine the sensation which one ex- 
periences on such an occasion. Thee supposes 
thyself to have been going in a certain direction 
but here thee is at a point which indicates that 
thee has been moving in a direction exactly 
opposite to the one intended, and to make con- 
fusion doubly confusing, thee concludes that 
in the present state of things thee is not sure of 
any direction. 

“The outcome of this unpleasant condition is 
usually a halt, which is often necessarily pro- 
longed until the coming of day. In the present 
case we stopped beside one of those large hay- 
stacks which used to be so common on the 
prairies before the settlers were able to build 
barns, and Zekiel went on a little way to see if 
he could find out where we were. 

“ But it was all of no use. The fog was so 
dense we could not see much of anything, and 
we were so confused that what we did see 
looked strange to us. Even the moon which 
after a time tried to pierce the fog with its rays, 
had very poor success, and to us it seemed to 
rise directly in the region of the north pole. 


16 


TENDING UPWAED. 


Zekiel unhitched the oxen from the cart and 
driving a stake, which he carried for that pur- 
pose, into the ground, he took a long chain and 
fastened the oxen to the stake so that they 
could eat and would not wander away while 
doing so. 

‘‘ He made Robbie and me as comfortable as 
he could in the cart, then giving each a good-bye 
kiss, he started off once more to see if he could 
find our house which we knew was not distant 
for we lived on the edge of this marsh, but as 
there were haystacks at several places we had 
no idea which one we might be near. 

“ True stayed with me in spite of Zekiel’s 
efforts to induce him to go with him in the 
hope that True’s instinct might guide to our 
home more surely than his own bewildered 
reason. 

‘‘ At first I had no thought of fear. Robbie 
still slept, and I sat and listened to the sounds 
that came to me on the damp air. For some 
time I could hear Zekiel whistle. He went 
through ‘ Yankee Doodle ’ three times, then 
turned to ‘ Boylston ’ and whistled that over 
and over till his voice died away entirely. Then 
the katydids came in for their share of attention 
and ‘katy did, katy did, — katy didn’t, — katy 
did she did,’ kept repeating itself over and 
over. I had always enjoyed the katydids but 


THE NIGHT ON THE PKAIEIE. 


17 


now their song grew monotonous, and I wished 
they would keep still so that I could hear 
Zekiel whistle ; but all the more they chanted 
on their monotonous refrain : — ‘ Katy didn’t ; 
katy did, she did.’ 

Then I grew vexed and began to cry, for I 
was so tired and nervous that in my childish- 
ness, it really seemed as though they were sing- 
ing just to annoy me. After the katydids, came 
another trial. I had reached that state where 
my imagination was easily wrought upon, and I 
began to grow scared and afraid to be alone. 
My ears were strained for unfamiliar sounds, 
and those that I recognized began to seem 
strange and startling. If True growled I im- 
agined some wild animal near. 

“ The clanking of the chain which fastened 
the oxen, which had been so pleasant to me at 
first made me shudder, for by one of those 
freaks which the excited imagination sometimes 
takes, all at once it associated itself with a de- 
scription of a convict chain-gang which I had 
read some years previous — a far from pleasant 
subject to think about at such a time and in 
such a place. 

‘‘ I tried to think of something else, but all the 
more I saw that terrible picture of the wretched 
convicts, which, portrayed most vividly by a 
favorite author, had made a deep impression on 
2 


18 


TENDING UPWARD. 


my mind at the time of reading, but I had 
scarcely thought of it since until this most 
inopportune moment. 

“ But soon the chain associated itself with an 
entirely different set of ideas. Suddenly I 
roused to the consciousness that its clanking 
was growing distant and I knew" that meant 
that Mink and Tony had gotten loose and were 
wandering away. This was a new disaster, for 
how were we to get home without the oxen ? 
Yet I had one comfort left— True would not 
desert me, and making the most of this consid- 
eration I spoke to him, feeling confident that he 
would at once respond to my call. 

But not so ! I called repeatedly. True, True, 
— there was no response. Then followed the 
most forlorn moment of my life. I lived much 
in the next hour. Of all that I went through, 
I will not attempt to speak. I realized as never 
before the w^eakness of human dependence, and 
felt the rest and peace that come through com- 
mitting all unto our heavenly Father. 

“ I resolved that henceforth I would endeavor 
to trust God more fully and overcome my fool- 
ish habit of worrying. ’Twas a solemn pledge, 
one from which I never dared depart, and it 
wrought a change in my life. 

“It was not an easy thing, Arminty, and 
many’s the time I’ve been tempted to give up and 


THE NIGHT ON THE PRAIEIE. 


19 


go back to the old way ; things would go so con- 
trary and make the future look so dark and dis- 
couraging ; but I’ve always found that the 
roughness of the way is measured by the 
strength of the divine Arm, and that when the 
path seems uncertain and hedged in the best 
thing is to leave all with God, only being sure 
that we are willing to see the path when it is 
pointed out, and to walk in it with willing and 
obedient feet. 

“After this experience which I have just re- 
lated, I grew calm, and, strange to say, fell 
asleep. When I awoke light was just dawning 
in the east. 

“Just as I finished watching the sunrise and 
turned to look around me, I heard Zekiel’s 
whistle and True bounded into the cart and 
wakened Robbie by putting his cold nose di- 
rectly into his face, and giving a peculiar half 
whine and half bark which he made when 
greatly pleased. 

“Zekiel’s first words were : — ‘ Well, Hannah, 
I’ll never say any more to you about worrying, 
for I tried my hand at it last night. I never 
was so confused in my life and it seemed to me 
that I should never see you and Robbie again. 

“ ‘ When I started out, I thought I knew just 
where I was and could go directly to the house 
in ten minutes, but after traveling until I was 


20 


TENDING UPWARD. 


tired out I sat down to wait until morning, and 
when daylight came I found I was three miles 
from home.’ 

“Then I told him of my experience and of the 
resolution which I had formed, and he took me 
in his arms and said that I must not get too 
good or he should have to move out because he 
had so many faults. 

“ As yet I had been too much occupied with 
other thoughts to think where I was, but on 
looking around things took on a familiar air, and 
I found that the haystack where we stopped 
was within forty rods of our house. When 
Mink and Tony released themselves from their 
stake they went at once to their accustomed 
pasture and True, as was his usual practice, 
went with them to keep them out of the garden 
which was near by. 

“It was a happy group that met at the family 
altar that morning. Zekiel was never much 
given to words, but the few he did speak some- 
times had a deal of meaning in them, and it 
would have done thee good to have have heard 
his prayer on that occasion. 

“ I had known that he loved me, ever since the 
evening that we walked together through the 
rustling autumn leaves on our way home from 
a paring bee, in old New England. 

“ I had always believed that love to be true 


THE NIGHT ON THE PHAIRIE. 


21 


and strong, but never as then had I realized 
the depth and strength of the pulse-beats which 
are caused by the throbbings of those hearts 
which only voice their purest, best emotions 
into the ear of the loving heavenly Father. 

“His prayer was just a few words of thanks- 
giving for the preservation of his “best be- 
loved,” and then a consecration of all to God 
who had bestowed such unmerited favors ; but 
its spirit proved a lasting benediction which 
outlives the passing years. 

“IVe lived long since then, Arminty, but I’ve 
never gone back from that hour. God is a God 
in life’s every-day living, and nothing is too 
small for his notice or too trivial for his lov- 
ing care. 

“ Pardon a few plain words from one who has 
learned truths through experiences which she 
would gladly spare thee, and who sympathizes 
with thee through knowledge of thy special 
trials. 

“ Thy trouble is this : — thee is trying to bear 
thine own burdens instead of letting the loving 
Father bear them for thee, and such weights al- 
ways prove too heavy for unassisted human 
strength. 

“But thee will come out right in the end, and 
I trust that long before thy hair is as white as 
mine, thee will have learned that life’s true end 


22 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


is to have done willingly and well the duties of 
each day and hour as they come to hand. 

“God never calls any individual to a work to 
which he is unequal, and all that is necessary 
for us is simply to follow his bidding, looking 
unto him for needed help and grace. 

“ Thee has it hard I know, poor thing ; but go 
forward bravely, one step at a time, looking 
unto God for help and thee will find, by and 
bye, that thee will sing the song of the con- 
quering hero instead of the sad refrain of to- 
day.” 


CHAPTER 11. 


AN UNHAPPY DAY. 

“ Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, 
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, 

Shall pass on to ages, all about me forgotten, 

Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done.’* 

Bonar. 

T)OOR Arminta ! She had need of comfort 
for she had experienced a sorry day — one 
of those times when everything seems to go 
wrong. Hers was one of those high -tensioned, 
easily-rasped natures which vibrate intensely to 
a discordant touch, and which require much 
grace and often a large amount of discipline to 
bring them into harmony with the spirit of the 
divine injunction — “ Let not your heart be 
troubled.” 

Having overslept, she had risen that morn- 
ing an hour behind time, and as she liked to be 
considered a model of promptness, this vexed 
and annoyed her. On going into the kitchen 
with plans for getting up a breakfast which 
would accommodate itself to the shortened time, 
she found the fire burned so low that it had to 

( 23 ) 


24 


TENDING UPWARD. 


be rebuilt before she could do anything toward 
getting the meal. Of course the coffee was 
muddy, and that the fried potatoes were black- 
ened instead of browned, was no great wonder. 
Her brother Fred said he guessed the napkins 
were taking a morning nap, and her father re- 
marked that he could get along without a nap- 
kin better than without butter for his bread. 

After breakfast was finished things still went 
wrong. 

The bread which had been put rising the 
previous evening, and which would have been 
attended to before breakfast but for lack of 
time, was hurried into the oven, yet not soon 
enough to prevent its souring to such a de- 
gree as to spoil it. 

Now, if there was anything on which Ar- 
minta prided herself it was her cooking, and 
to have anything go wrong with that always, 
as Fred expressed it, ‘‘ Turned her temper 
topsy turvy,” and the present instance was no 
exception. 

What was she to do with those three loaves 
of bTead ? 

She would let Fred have them for his hens, 
but she knew that if she did, she should not 
hear the last of it for a month to come. Every 
time he brought in eggs he would be sure to 
make some remark, either direct or indirect on 


AK UNHAPPY DAY. 


25 


the wonderful properties of sour bread as an 
egg-producing food for hens ; and she did hate 
ridicule. 

Dinner was a success, and as she washed the 
dishes she congratulated herself on having her 
work so nearly done that there would be time 
for several chapters in a new book, which she 
had just commenced reading, before it would 
be necessary to make biscuits for tea. 

But not so. Just as she had finished dress- 
ing for the afternoon and, book in hand, was 
about to settle herself into a large chair that 
stood in a bright corner of the sitting room, 
without even the ceremony of rapping, in 
walked Granny Maxin. A more unwelcome 
visitor could scarcely have appeared at that 
particular time. Personally Arminta disliked 
her, and her calls were the dread of the neigh- 
borhood on account of her unpleasant ways and 
her disposition to gossip. 

She was an excellent illustration of the 
homely proverb — “A dog that will fetch a 
bone will carry one,” and those familiar with 
her knew that any vacancy produced in her 
budget of gossip by the portion doled out at 
any house, was sure to be supplied by items 
picked up at that place to be dispensed further 
on. 

Instinctively Arminta glanced around the 


26 


TENDING DPWAED. 


room, and then looked herself over to see what 
her caller could possibly see at this time to tell 
of. As to hearing she felt entirely safe, for her 
lips should be sealed so far as giving informa- 
tion oil any subject was concerned and, alas ! 
they were also sealed toward any attempt to 
throw light or joy into the darkened heart of 
poor old Granny Maxin. 

How she did wish the old lady had stayed 
away so that she could read her book. She 
thought only of self, and did not consider that 
to minister and not to be ministered unto, must 
be life’s great aim, if the glory of God and the 
highest happiness of the individual is to be 
attained. She did not know that Granny 
Maxin had spent a whole hour in bitter weep- 
ing before two pictures that always stood on 
the mantel in her best room, and then had put 
on her faded sunbonnet and gone out to set 
awhile ” among the neighbors, just because her 
heart ached so sadly at the thought of her 
loneliness. True, she was disagreeable, more 
so than in days gone by, but the young, with all 
their clustering enjoyments, can well afford to 
spare a little sunshine for the withered leaves 
of faded joys with which time strews the path- 
way of the aged. 

Granny Maxin came in and without ceremony 
ensconsed herself in the very chair which Ar- 


AN UNHAPPY DAY. 


27 


ininta purposed to occupy. She was a tall, 
strongly built woman of much avoirdupois, and 
a face that made one wonder whether the steely 
gray eyes had ever looked fondness, or the firmly 
set lips ever framed themselves for a kiss. Her 
gingham dress was faded and her shawl had 
seen much wear, but both were well preserved, 
and her whole appearance indicated tidiness and 
care. 

She seated herself with an effort, and endeav- 
ored by using as a fan a newspaper which lay 
near to lighten her heavy asthmatic breathing 
so as to enable her to converse. 

Arminta knew that there was a fan on the 
mantel, and ordinarily she would have handed 
it to her caller, but now she did nothing of the 
sort, and it was some minutes before the old lady 
recovered her speech. 

Granny Maxin was one of those people who 
possess more heart, than delicacy of feeling, 
and who cannot appreciate that feeling which 
hides itself within, shrinking from the touch of 
even the closest friendship, and much more 
from common -places even though they are well 
meant and kindly offered ; therefore she could 
not know the pain which she was inflicting on 
the sensitive Arminta with her words which 
ran thus: — ‘‘Well Minty, how are ye gettin’ 
on, and how’s yer pa and the children ? Poor 


28 


TENDING DPWAED. 


man ! I don’t wonder he gets blue, for yer ma 
was such a model housekeeper, and he can’t ex- 
pect much from a young chick like you — ” a 
decided upward tendency of the nose on the 
part of Arminta. 

The children must be awful lonesome with- 
out their ma. Why, I heard Miss Griswold 
say the other day, that Lily was actually grow- 
in’ poor over it, but Miss Glines said she 
guessed ’twas cause she’d had whooping cough. 

“ They do say — ” here the voice was lowered, 
and the speaker bent toward the disgusted Ar- 
minta — ‘‘ that yer pa talked a long time with 
Miss Forbes at the picnic last week, but I 
wouldn’t worry over it for the children need a 
ma and maybe yer pa would chirk up a little if 
he had a wife to comfort him, though land 
knows he’ll never get another like yer ma. 

‘‘Got a new book have ye? Beats all what 
a lot of new books some folks does have. I 
used to have them when my folks was livin’, 
but now, it’s just think, think, with nothin’ to 
read, and with that she gathered her worn 
shawl about her shoulders, adjusted her sun- 
bonnet and rose to depart, but as she did so 
Arminta noticed that a tear was rolling down 
her furrowed cheek. 

This did not add to Arminta’s comfort. She 


AN UNHAPPY DAY. 


29 


knew that she had failed in her duty toward 
Granny Maxin. 

What if she was disagreeable, she was en- 
titled to kindness on her part for several 
reasons which she well understood. Had she 
taken a little pains it would have been an easy 
matter for her to have adroitly turned the con- 
versation into a more congenial channel, for 
there were subjects on which Granny Maxin 
could talk well. 

She knew, too, that out of her abundant 
store she might have supplied the old lady with 
reading with which to while away many weary 
hours. But selfishness had taken the place of 
chanty, and turn the matter over as she would 
in her own mind she felt ill at ease. 

A little time still remaining, she turned to 
her book, but her thoughts wandered so that 
when she reached the bottom of a page she 
could scarcely recall two ideas that she had read, 
though the subject was one of intense interest. 

Discouraged and wholly out of sorts with 
herself and everybody else, it is no wonder that 
she thought her life-burden heavy, or that after 
her work was finished she took her hat and went 
across the garden to the cottage where lived the 
old Quakeress, Aunt Hannah, and poured into 
her sympathetic ears the recital which called 
forth the words that form our opening chapter. 


CHAPTER HI. 


UNITED LIPE-CUERENTS. 

“ Cupid shot his darts at me ; 

I once defied his power, 

But now he’s chained my heart to thee j 
I’ll own it from this hour.” 

T hat Lilian Emerson should marry Elwyn 
Sherman, was a great wonder to the inter- 
ested public. She was a dainty little Miss, with 
a pretty face, golden brown hair, laughing blue 
eyes and hands that looked as though they were 
made on purpose to glide over ivory keys. 
’Twas said she knew nothing but books and 
music, and A pretty farmer’s wife she’d make, 
with her ignorance of work and her fine ways, 
— the silly young thing ! ” Why, she wasn’t 

more than twenty, at most, and Elwyn Sherman 
was twenty-eight if he was a day.” 

It did seem a strangely assorted match, for 
Mr. Sherman was a striking contrast to his lit- 
tle wife. He measured fully six feet in height, 
had a plain face, and hair that insisted on 
standing up just when he most wished it to 
keep in place. His hands and feet were of the 
( 30 ) 


UNITED LIEE-CUKEENTS. 


31 


kind that were always in the way, and his gait 
that of one who seems continually laboring 
under the impression that he is getting behind 
in the life-race. He was acknowledged to be 
of good habits and a great woiker, but beyond 
this people knew comparatively little of him up 
to the time of his marriage. The girls of his 
neighborhood ignored him because he was so 
lacking in style, and as he had no sisters his 
young manhood passed with little of ladies’ 
society, or, in fact, of society of any kind except 
that of his books of which he had a large 
number. 

But there came a change. He tired of his 
lonely life and, as young men will, began to 
question as to the advisability of taking a life 
partner and settling in a home of his own. 

There was the Grove Farm ’’offered for sale 
on very reasonable terms : he had a mind to 
buy it and take his chance of getting some one 
to occupy with him the new house which had 
just been built there. He had nearly money 
enough to pay for the farm and could easily make 
it pay the remainder in a year at most. The 
thought was father to the deed, so far as the 
purchase of the farm was concerned, but the 
partner — that - was a different matter. It did 
make some difference with the girls of bis 


32 


TENDING UPWARD. 


acquaintance that he now drove a span of hand- 
some grays and a shining carriage. 

Jane Comstock did accept an invitation to 
attend a lecture, which necessitated a drive of 
ten miles, and Emma Stone began to smile 
pleasantly when she met him instead of passing 
with a haughty bow. 

But this was not enough. Elwyn Sherman’s 
heart was large, and, all unknown to those about 
him, it held a great store of honest love which 
was well worth accepting by some one who 
could appreciate real worth under the cover of 
a plain exterior. He was quick to detect the 
deference paid to the outlay of dollars and 
cents, and wished none of it. He had lived 
single for years and would do so still. 

He tried to stifle his longings by working 
harder than ever, and laying plans for the im- 
provement of his farm. He plowed his broad 
acres and seeded in the most improved way, 
then set to work to repair the fences and put 
all the buildings in the best possible order. He 
drove his handsome grays alone, and his bashful 
air began to merge into something quite like 
dignity since he had decided to show the girls 
that he could live without them. 

But, alas for him who prides himself on his 
strength in any direction ; the helmet must 
be brightly burnished and the shield carefully 


UNITED LIFE-CURRENTS. 


33 


adjusted that are proof against Cupid’s arrows, 
Mr. Sherman, with all his self-confidence, did 
not prove equal to the occasion. 

The old gentleman of whom he purchased 
Grove Farm lived in the city, some miles dis- i 
tant and although he took possession in the 
early spring, being very busy he neglected to 
obtain his deed of title until the following 
June. Then, his spring crops being in and his 
corn planted, he decided to take a holiday and 
attend to this important business, which he well 
knew had already been neglected too long. He 
drove the grays to the station, taking with him 
Robert the farm hand, to drive them home and 
return for him at the time of the incoming of 
the evening train. 

Ah ! the future is hidden from our eyes. 
Robert was faithful to his master’s order, but 
the startled grays pranced in vain beside the 
snorting engine on that eventful evening, for 
no master appeared. He was in the incipient 
stages of the realization of his cherished dream 
— like the fabled devotee, worshipping afar off 
his ideal goddess. 

When noon came the business in hand ‘not 
being finished, the old gentleman invited him 
to his home for dinner. Mr. Sherman declined 
in favor of a restaurant ; but the old gentleman 
3 


34 


TENDING UDWARD. 


was persistent and from sheer bashfulness and 
lack of tact in the matter of declining, much 
against his inclination he accepted the invita- 
tion, There are moments in life when much 
depends upon seemingly trivial things. 

A decision between a dinner at a restaurant 
or at a private house, seems a trifling matter, 
but it meant much for Mr. Sherman. All the 
way, as he strode along beside his dignifled com- 
panion he felt self-conscious and uncomfortable. 
He wished a dozen times that he had acted 
his pleasure and gone to a restaurant. 

The walk was short and soon they stood within 
the doors of a richly furnished home. Contact 
with such unusual surroundings did not tend 
to relieve previous embarrassment, or help to 
solve the problem as to the disposition of hands 
and feet, which each new dilemma but rendered 
more trying. 

Soon, however, the current of his thoughts 
was changed. As they entered the hall the 
sound of music was in the air, but no sooner 
had the heavy doors closed behind them with a 
deep clang than the music suddenly stopped, 
and a young lady rushed into the hall and gave 
the old gentleman a most cordial greeting. 
She wore a light blue dress of thin, fleecy ma- 
terial simply made, and her only ornament was a 
string of beautiful white beads which encircled 


UNITED LIEE-CURRENTS. 


36 


her snowy neck. Her face was lighted up with 
pleasure and she came forward with a swaying, 
elastic movement that was the embodiment of 
grace and ease. 

The greeting of the old man explained the 
case: — “Ah I little one! You didn’t forget 
grandfather, did you! I thought that with 
your young friends, your music, and your an- 
ticipations for the evening I should miss my 
greeting this noon ; but I’m glad I mistook.” 
Then turning to his guest he said: — “Mr. 
Sherman, my granddaughter. Miss Emerson.” 

But for the thought that the young lady was 
worse off than himself, Mr. Sherman would 
have at once subsided into a new fit of bash- 
fulnes, but as it was he thought only of reliev- 
ing the embarrassment of the other party whom 
he knew did not notice his presence up to the 
time of the introduction, and as is usual in 
such cases, in thinking of another he forgot 
self, and really appeared very well. 

During the dinner hour he learned that this 
was graduation day at the seminary where Miss 
Emerson had been educated, and that on the 
evening of that day she was to appear as an 
essayist and receive her diploma. His business 
being completed he set out for the depot on 
his return trip, in an agitated frame of mind. 
If he had not told Robert to meet him at the 


36 


TENDING TJPWAED. 


station that evening, he would stay and attend 
the Commencement exercises ; but, of course, 
under the circumstances, he must go. The 
nearer he came to the depot the stronger grew 
his desire to remain, and the slower became his 
pace. The whistle sounded the arrival of his 
train, but so absorbed was he that he did not 
notice the fact amid the combination of city 
sounds, until he was really too late to get on 
board. 

Then he went to a hotel and began to think 
in earnest of the coming evening. He stood 
before the mirror for at least a quarter of an 
hour trying to put his refractory hair in place, 
but, as ever, it would insist in assuming some 
position wholly undesirable on such an occa- 
sion. Next, his tie came in for inspection, and 
being considered too worn to do duty, he went 
out and purchased one more to his taste. 

But the thought uppermost in his mind had 
not as yet voiced itself and did not find expres- 
sion until gas light made things seem a little 
less conspicuous than the glare of day. It 
seemed to him that every person he met must 
know why he took a street car that led to a 
conservatory, and the casual remark of a fel- 
low traveler concerning a bouquet which he 
handled with great care, made him blush like 
a school-boyo He took a back seat in the 


UNITED LIFE-CUREENTS. 


37 


crowded hall, and no person present listened 
more intently than he to the various essays. 

One on ‘‘ Ideals ” he considered very good, 
and the humor of ^‘Summer Outings’^ was 
irresistible. “ Life in the Country ’’ he thought 
too tame, but ‘‘The Influence of Woman” 
impressed him as a marvel of genius. Last on 
the list came “ The Face an Index of the Soul,” 
and other eyes beside his followed the little 
essayist, Lilian Emerson, admiringly as she re- 
tired from the stage amid prolonged applause. 

It was not specially noticed by any except 
himself, that Mr. Sherman’s bouquet appeared 
on the stage at this particular time, but as in 
the withdrawing room Miss Emerson looked 
over those which -had fallen to her share, she 
noticed one composed of roses which reminded 
her so forcibly of her conversation with the 
stranger at the dinner hour that she blushed 
so visibly as to attract the attention of a class- 
mate, who remarked that she believed she saw 
that very bouquet in the hand of a “ country 
greeny ” on the street car. 

After that, it was strange how much there 
was that made it necessary for Elwyn Sher- 
man to visit the city. There were the early 
peas which it would be so much better to take 
to the city market. True, he might send 
them, but one never felt quite so satisfied as 


38 


TENDING TJPWAED. 


when he attended to his own business instead 
of entrusting it to others. There was a de- 
mand for strawberry apples at home, fruit be- 
ing scarce that year, but so long as it wasn’t 
much bother, he would take them to the city. 
Then came fall butter, and later on, potatoes, 
corn and pressed hay. Finally furnishings for 
the house on Grove Farm began to put in an 
appearance ; and the astonished citizens of the 
rural district declared “ It must be that Elwyn 
Sherman is going to get married.” 

This surmise was in no degree lessened when 
the secret became an open one that Granny 
Maxin had been told that there was a new 
suit of finest broadcloth, a silk hat, and boots, 
the like of which the ungainly farmer had 
never been seen to purchase before. 


CHAPTER IV. 


HOUSEKEEPING. 

“ For larger life and wiser aims 
The farmer is her debtor ; 

Who holds to his another’s heart 
Must needs be worse or better.” 


Whittier. 


ES, it was true ! The prancing grays and 



a “ bran new cutter ” were driven to the 
depot one starlight evening in mid winter to 
meet Elwynn Sherman and his bride. The 
girls in the neighborhood were in a state of 
combined curiosity and excitement when this 
fact was known, and remarks indicative of their 
state of mind were not wanting. One thought 
a city girl must have strange taste to select 
such an awkward specimen of humanity, and 
another suggested that green might be her 
favorite color. A third wondered if the bride 
was versed in the art of butter making, and 
still another whether she would be expected to 
feed the pigs and help milk the cows. 

But little it mattered to the fair Lilian. She 
had a mind of her own in most cases, and the pres- 


( 39 ) 


40 


TENDING UPWARD. 


ent one was no exception. She had answered 
for herself in the matter of a life partner. She 
knew Mr. Sherman was awkward and unaccus- 
tomed to the ways of the social world, but she 
loved him for all that. With woman’s intui- 
tion she had recognized his worth and the large 
heart that beat so strong and true within his 
manly bosom. 

He, on his part, felt the change and blessed 
her for it. From boyhood he had known that 
he was shy and awkward, and each new experi- 
ence that brought this fact to his mind but 
made him more self-conscious and shrinking. 
It was a marvel to him that one so at her ease 
as his little wife could tolerate his ungainly 
ways, and he made it a study to improve. 

Hers was the brighter, more sparkling nature, 
which renders the surface beautiful, while his 
supplied the deep undercurrent, calm and strong, 
which stays up the surface ripples in the hour 
of fierce winds and howling tempests. With- 
out the other, the life of each had been incom- 
plete ; but united each felt the other’s heart- 
throb and together they rose to a better life. 
The record of the first weeks of their house- 
keeping might be omitted, but for the enter- 
tainment of those similarly tried we note it. 
Mrs. Sherman was not versed in the art of 
housekeeping, having never baked a loaf of 


HOUSEKEEPING. 


41 


bread or gotten up a meal of victuals in her 
life. She could bake two binds of cake “splen- 
didly,” and had often been commended for her 
skill in that direction at picnics and church 
suppers. She had also recently learned to per- 
fection the art of making “pop-overs,” but 
aside from this and the care of her own room, 
she knew as little of general housework as a 
child. She expected to have brought with her 
from the city a professional housekeeper, but 
by one of those coincidences which so often 
annoy the housewife, the professional was sick 
and her services were not available. A substi- 
tute was provided in the person of an Irish 
girl, Margaret by name, who professed herself 
capable of doing all kinds of work, and house- 
keeping began. 

On the morning which found Margaret in- 
stalled in the kitchen at Grove Farm, Mr. 
Sherman went to town to attend to some busi- 
ness which would detain him until dinner time 
and the little wife took a book and went to the 
sitting room to while away the time until her 
husband’s return. She was in the midst of an 
interesting chapter when Margaret’s red head 
appeared at the sitting room door with — 

“ Please, ma’am ! how did ye say ye wanted 
the chicken cooked ? ” 

“ Fricasseed, if you please,” said the little 


42 


TENDING UPWARD. 


housewife in her most stately manner, and 
somewhat of pardonable pride filled her heart 
at the thought that she now stood at the head 
of a household. 

Now, the fact was, with all her boasted profi- 
ciency Margaret was nearly as ignorant of 
cooking as her mistress, and as to fricasseeing 
a chicken, she had no more idea how it was to 
be done than the “ man in the moon.” 

She went back to the kitchen wearing a 
puzzled look and muttering to herself : — “ It’s 
blamed I’ll be if ever I saw a fricasseed chicken, 
and, as to cooking it, I’ve no idea as to whether 
it’s to be churned, baked or boiled.” 

It was a sheepish looking face that appeared 
at the sitting room door the second time, for 
Margaret was too self sufficient to wish to own 
that there was any thing which she did not 
know ; but this time she returned to the kitchen 
in an entirely different frame of mind. Her 
second visit had disclosed to her her mistress’s 
inability to direct, and added an unnecessary 
amount of self-esteem to her already large 
supply. She would manage things in the 
kitchen according to her own ideas. 

As for that chicken, it should be roasted. 
She could do that, and she would show Mr. 
Sherman that she knew how to cook a dinner 
if his wife did not. 


HOUSEKEEPIJTG. 


43 


Mr. Sherman was as ignorant as his wife of 
methods in a well conducted household, but of 
one thing he was a judge, and that was a good 
meal, for his mother was famed the country 
round for superior cooking. His countenance 
fell somewhat as he sat down to his first din- 
ner in his new home. The carving knife was 
new and sharp, but it was not suJSQcient for 
Margaret’s roasted ‘chicken which had not been 
cooked over half an hour. The potatoes were 
well cooked but the other vegetables were done 
on the same principle as the fowl. The bread 
was good, and dessert came on in fine style, and 
he would not for the world let Lilian know 
that he felt any difference between this and 
his accustomed fare. He would prefer a diet 
of bread and water all his days rather than a 
return to his bachelor life. But Lilian ! She 
went to her room and had a good cry. Vexa- 
tion and mortification each strove for mastery 
within her soul. Never before had she realized 
what a great mistake lay in a girl growing up in 
ignorance of that which is so essential to her in 
after life, and the burden of her lack came upon 
her as a heavy weight.* 

Hitherto she had looked upon a knowledge 

^Schools for teaching the various arts of housekeeping, as cook- 
ing, decorating, dressmaking &c., are now becoming popular; and 
deservedly so, among large classes of well to do citizens in city 
and country.— Ed.] 


44 


TENDING UPWARD. 


of the art of housekeeping as pertaining to the 
office of servants and had given little thought 
to the matter, even in view of her anticipated 
position as a farmer’s wife. 

But now life began to take on a different 
coloring and what would she not have given to 
know just what to do and how to do it. 

With the dinner she was disgusted. She 
knew that Mr. Sherman’s mother was an ex- 
cellent cook, and her pride was of a nature 
which made it exceedingly mortifying to her, 
that he should find his wife so wholly incom- 
petent to direct the supplying of that which he 
had relinquished in order to place her in her 
present position. 

Had the newly constituted husband known 
of the tempest that was raging in his wife’s 
mind he would have hastened to her relief with 
words of comfort and assurance, and with what- 
ever he could offer by way of suggestions 
which looked toward opening up a way out of 
the dilemma, but as his own knowledge was so 
limited there would have been little to hope 
for in the latter case. As it was he was in ig- 
norance of the afternoon’s clouds, for sunshine 
soon chased away all shadows and removed all 
traces of tears. 

Mrs. Sherman’s was one of those natures 
which rouse to meet and grapple with life’s 


HOUSEKEEPING. 


45 


diflScult problems rather than tamely yield to 
opposing winds, or meekly bend before those op- 
posing forces which only require the assertion 
of a determined will to make one master of his 
or her position. Looking the matter squarely 
in the face, she formed her resolution. She would 
learn housework. Never again would she sub- 
mit to the humiliation of that morning, or be 
found so incompetent for her position. 

But how was she to learn among entire 
strangers? The first thing she would do 
should be to get a cook book, and — 

She had just reached this point in her 
quandary when the door bell rang and she went 
down to meet a neighbor who introduced her- 
self as Mrs. Maxin, and stated that she lived in 
the little brown house at the foot of the hill. 
She also said : — “ Seeing Mr. Sherman go past 
I concluded that his wife must be alone, and I 
thought mebby you’d be lonesome all by yer- 
self, and I thought I’d come in and see if I 
couldn’t cheer ye up a bit.” 

She said nothing of her desire to see just 
what sort of a wife Elwyn Sherman bad mar- 
ried, or of the fact that she was on her way to 
meet a company that afternoon who would be en- 
tertained by whatever of items in that direction, 
she might find it convenient to pick up. 
Naturally, in conversation she learned some- 


46 


TENDING tJPWAED. 


what of Mrs. Sherman’s dilemma and the latter 
could scarcely have found a* better person to 
help her out of it. 

Mrs. Maxin was a model housekeeper, and 
liked nothing better than to initiate others into 
the mysteries of the culinary art and the many 
details that go to make up practical housekeep- 
ing. Besides, she admired the little wife, and 
felt flattered that to her it had fallen to act as 
her friend and adviser. Mrs. Maxin was, to 
say the least, a ‘‘ peculiar character.” For a 
person whom she liked, nothing was too good ; 
but to incur her dislike was to place one’s self 
at the mercy of a tongue that was not a 
stranger to cutting sarcasms, nor over-scrupu- 
lous with regard to mischief making. 

But Mrs. Sherman had nothing to fear. She 
had struck the keynote that would vibrate the 
harmonious chords of Mrs. Maxin’s heart, and 
profit to both was the result. 

When the call was ended Mrs. Sherman felt 
that she had gained a friend, and into the shad- 
owed life of Mrs. Maxin had fallen a brighten- 
ing gleam that would last long. It would do 
her good, in her warped, cold life, to have some 
one to think of and labor for outside of her 
own lonely cottage. 

For Mrs. Sherman the call was made none 
too soon, for that afternoon Margaret declared 


HOUSEKEEPING. 


47 


herself homesick and took abrupt leave. Then 
the young wife asserted herself, and declining 
all offers on the part of her husband to go at 
once in quest of another girl, she secured the 
assistance of Mrs. Maxin and set out to make 
herself master of her position. 

It was no easy task — her arms ached with 
rolling pie crust and her lily fingers bore many 
signs of contact with a hot oven grate, or the 
heated bail of the potato kettle. 

Sometimes the cookies would burn in spite 
of her care, and her first doughnuts were inno- 
cent of both sugar and salt. 

But she persevered until Mrs. Maxin herself, 
said she could teach her no more. 


CHAPTER V 


CHANGES. 

“ Change is written on the tide ; 

On the forest’s leafy pride.” 

** There is a Eeaper whose name is Death, 

And with his sickle keen 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 

And the flowers that grow between. 

Longfellow. 

rpHE years speed on at Grove Farm — three 
children gladden the parents’ hearts. 

Arminta, the eldest, partakes of her father’s 
nature — deep, self-contained and quiet. She 
is of slow, methodical habits strong in her af- 
fections and generous, but much given to wor- 
rying and looking at the shadowy side of life. 
Fred, two years younger, might almost have 
born the name “ Lilian,” so strong is his re- 
semblance to his mother, and he is strikingly 
like her in character. He possesses the sparkle 
and dash so lacking in Arminta and is at once 
the pet and plague of the household. He gets 
more fun out of life in a day than Arminta 
would think of finding in a week. With him 
( 48 ) 


CHANGES. 


49 


disturbances of temper are of short duration. 
Arminta would sulk for hours over an offence 
which would pass from his mind almost as soon 
as committed. He was a great tease and al- 
ways up to some prank, but so abundant was 
his good nature that one seldom felt inclined to 
censure him severely. Underneath his fun- 
loving nature was a heart that was not only 
tender and true, but large in its range of ob- 
jects on which to lavish its affections. 

The exclusive Arminta cared for but few 
friends and wanted those to herself. Fred was 
a general favorite and seemed to scatter his af- 
fections promiscuously and with lavish hand. 

Last, but not least in this household came 
Lilian, who was so pale and slight as to make 
her pet name, Lily, seem specially appropriate. 
She was her father’s pet, and if Fred had a 
shrine it was his sister Lily that was enthroned 
thereon as his fair goddess. 

Little Mrs. Sherman was considered a model 
mother. Remembering her own experience in 
her early married life, she resolved that no 
child of hers should be called to assume life’s 
responsibilities with so little knowledge of 
their real nature ; and from their cradles she 
had educated her children to be self-helpful 
and thoughtful for others. They were taught 
to look upon work, not as a burden, but as a 


60 


TEliTDING UPWARD. 


necessary condition to the carrying out of the 
life-plan which God designed for every indi- 
vidual. 

She allowed them wide range in the choice 
of occupations but two things she insisted upon 
— if they commenced a piece of work they were 
to finish it, and, whatever they undertook they 
were to do it well. 

Amusements were not wanting and she spent 
many hours which she considered far from 
wasted, in joining in some game or directing 
some sport. There was no home in the neigh- 
borhood where children loved so well to con- 
gregate, as at Mr. Sherman’s, and they always 
went away with pleasant memories of the little 
mother. 

Arminta was a genuine “ book -worm.” Fred 
hated books in general, but would sit by the 
hour listening to his mother’s silvery tones 
whether she read stories, travels, history or 
biography. His knowledge of the world would 
come largely through observation, and his life 
success be marked through the working out of 
the principles instilled into his heart while he 
was still in knee pants and roundabouts. 

Mr. Sherman was one of those men who have 
little to do with home discipline or home cares. 
This was not so much that he wished to evade 
responsibility as that he had never known any 


CHANGES.' 


51 


other way. Previous to his marriage his mother 
had always waited on him and required of him 
no self-sacrifice for any thing which she could 
do for him, which system is not conducive to 
thoughtful attentions in after life on the part 
of the petted son. 

He would willingly do any thing for his wife 
if requested, but, like many another wife she 
shrank from asking for services which she 
would gladly have accepted had they been 
offered, and thus she became the real family 
burden-bearer. He provided with a generous 
hand, and she worked her own will in the use 
of household stores. 

Perhaps another reason for this state of things 
lay in the fact of the husband’s unbounded con- 
fidence in the superiority of his wife’s judgment 
over his own, for, to him, nothing could surpass 
his Lilian’s good sense and correct way of do- 
ing things. The children sought mother for 
advice and for the settlement of vexed ques- 
tions. “ The heart of her husband” did also 
“ safely trust in her” and she reigned as queen 
in her quiet and happy home. 

In society too, she was a living power. As 
her home cares increased she had little time to 
devote to the outside world, but that little was 
freely given and used to best advantage. The 
presence of the bright, lively Mrs. Sherman at 


62 


TENDING TJPWAED. 


any social gathering was considered a favor, and 
she scattered sunshine wherever she went. 

But there came a change. One drear Novem- 
ber a fever raged in the district where Mr. 
Sherman lived, and the mother and the frail 
‘‘ Lily,” became victims. The latter recovered, 
but the former laid down her earth-life, despite 
broken hearts and tear-dimmed eyes. 


CHAPTER VI. 


GRANNY MAXIN. 


“Art thou stricken in life’s battle? 

Many wounded round thee moan ! 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsam, 

And that balm shall heal thine own.” 

Mes. Chaeles. 


"tTTE have introduced Granny Maxin in an 
unfavorable light, and in order to 
do her justice must note her better traits. 
Her early days were spent largely in a cotton 
factory, and she knew little of life except that 
it meant a struggle for bread and the where- 
with to supply other physical necessities. She 
longed to go to school as other children did, 
but after she was ten years of age up to the 
time of attaining her majority, she knew more 
of spinning jennies and looms than of reading 
and recitations. True, she did borrow a book 
now and then and try to read after her day's 
work was finished, but she usually nodded over 
the first page and was too tired and sleepy to 
connect the thoughts of the author. At twenty- 
two she married a mechanic, poor and ignorant 

( 53 ) 


54 


TENDING UPWARD. 


like herself, who had also a physical infirmity 
which in time so affected his mind as to render 
him imbecile. Her life had always been one of 
hard conditions and she knew little of those 
softening and refining influences which, unper- 
ceived, wrap the soul about with their gentle 
power and lift it nearer to the great heart of 
love and truth. 

But one thing she did know. Her heart beat 
with a living power for her husband. For him 
she labored night and day, and denied him 
nothing that her slender purse could buy. The 
time came when she had to care for him as for 
a child, and hard days’ work were followed by 
sleepless nights, but no sound of complaint es- 
caped her lips. Coarse clay shapes into beauti- 
ful forms under the hand of a master, and love 
is a mighty power in developing what is best in 
human character. Early widowed, Mrs. Maxin’s 
heart closed in upon itself and she went forth 
into the world, soured and hardened. She 
blamed circumstances for her hard lot. She 
envied those better circumstanced than herself, 
without considering that trials of some kind 
enter into the lives of all whatever their lot 
may be. She closed her eyes to the stray 
gleams of sunshine which come through kind 
words and acts on the part of others, and deep- 
ened her own shadows by chilling other hearts. 


GKANNY MAXIN. 


55 


Her husband’s death occurred about a year 
previous to the date of Mr. Sherman’s purchase 
of Grove Farm and, soon after, she rented a cot- 
tage which stood near that place, and that is 
where our story finds her. She supported her- 
self by doing whatever she could get to do. 
She was most desirable help, but so great was 
her love of gossip that she was often employed 
as a last resort where, under other circumstances, 
she would have been most welcome. 

Mrs. Sherman was the first to pierce her chill- 
ing armor. This she did partially through her 
need of her, and partially through pity for the 
lone woman who seemed so unhappy. Her own 
life was so full of joy she must needs share it, 
and at her door was one who had need of 
kindly ministry in return for substantial serv- 
ice rendered. 

Mrs. Maxin, on her part, again felt the power 
of love and her heart began to soften. To the 
giving of her first lesson in the art of house- 
keeping, she went forth with the grim defiant 
spirit of one who yields to circumstances be- 
cause he must, but on her way home she forgot 
all about herself and actually laughed as she 
thought of the funny grimace that Mrs. Sher- 
man made when she found that she had salted 
the pudding twice and the queer way in which 
she capered about with her first tin of cookies 


56 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


in her hand. The farther the acquaintance 
progressed the more attached she became to her 
new friend, until she came to consider no sacri- 
fice on her part too great to lay upon the altar 
of her affection. She helped Mrs. Sherman to 
secure a competent servant girl, but if at any 
time extra help was needed she always supplied 
it if it lay in her power. 

For some reason, Arminta she never liked ; 
but to her mind there was never another such 
a boy as Fred. A picture was as nothing com- 
pared to his pretty face, and his baby ways were 
a marvel of cunning. His first attempt at 
spoken language she construed into “Granny 
Maxin.” From any other lips this epithet 
would justly have been considered the height 
of impertinence and its use have been followed 
by her unconcealed wrath, but in the present 
case it was “ so funny ” that she repeated it un- 
til the term fastened itself upon her with a life- 
long clasp. 

As he grew older, Fred learned to reciprocate 
Granny Maxin’s devoted attachment and it was 
among his greatest treats to be allowed to visit 
her cottage. No new toy was fully enjoyed un- 
til she had seen it, and Mrs. Sherman often pro- 
tested against the amount of her hard-earned 
change which was invested in something for his 
amusement. Never a visit to the cottage but 


GRANNY MAXTN. 


57 


Fred was hungry for a seed cake or tart baked 
for his special eating, and it was useless for any 
one to attempt cookies which would compare 
with those of Granny Maxin. 

Some thought it strange that Mrs. Sherman 
should, as they expressed it, “ Take to such an 
uninteresting specimen of womanhood as 
Granny Maxin,” but, as we have before seen, 
Mrs. Sherman looked below the surface in her 
estimate of character. Besides, she was one 
who valued a favor received, and if for no other 
reason she would have remembered Granny 
Maxin kindly for her help in the hour of her 
need in ' her first attempts at housekeeping. 
She taught her children kindness to all, but by 
precept as well as example, she taught special 
care toward those less favored by kindly influ- 
ences than themselves and especially to her old 
friend. 

As the years passed on the effect of this be- 
came apparent in Granny Maxin. She grew 
less hard and sour and seemed to consider that 
even to her, life held somewhat of brightness 
and enjoyment. She showed more genuine re- 
gard for the feelings and interests of others, 
and her services became more and more desired. 

A gossip she would always be — her nature 
lacked the refinement which forbids that — but 
it was noted that there was less of sharp criti- 


58 


TENDING UPWARD. 


cism and those comparisons which place the 
person discussed in an unfavorable light. 

When Mrs. Sherman died, her gray head was 
bowed with such sorrow as she had only known 
when she wept for her husband, and she was 
the only one who could comfort the impulsive 
Fred on the day of his mother’s funeral. 

She said not a word — only took him by the 
hand with a clasp that voiced her own grief 
and sympathy, and bowing his head upon her 
shoulder, the boy wept the tears which hitherto 
had refused to flow. 


CHAPTER VIL 


ABMINTA. 

“ Heaven is not reached by a single bound ; 

We build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to its summit round by round. 

“ We rise by things that are under our feet, 

By what we have mastered of good and pain. 

By the pride deposed and the passion slain,” 

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.^’ 

TTTHEN her mother’s death occurred, Arminta 
’ ’ was twenty years of age. She had com- 
pleted her school life, but had entered upon a 
course of reading that was to extend through 
two years, and had also planned to give consid- 
erable attention to music. 

Concerning her opinions varied. Some con- 
sidered her a very superior girl, while others 
thought her cold, distant, and haughty. She 
did not possess Fred’s ability to make friends. 
As we have seen, she inherited her father’s 
self-contained reserved nature, and what passed 
for coldness and distance was often the result 
of this reserve combined with native timidity, 

( 59 ) 


60 


TENDING UPWARD. 


rather than any real coldness of heart. She 
lived much within herself. None but he who 
created it, knew the deepest, most intense long- 
ings of her soul. In one direction these voiced 
themselves in a poem which she once learned as 
a recitation in school, and which became an 
animating principle in her life. It ran thus : — 


“ I would know more ! I will not always dwell 
Here in the dust. Above me, swell on swell, 

Soars the grand crest of knowledge. I have wiU, 
And I will dare. What ! I a thinking soul, 
Content with this poor lore of mine, my goal ! 
What do I know ? vast tomes have I explored 
And yet know naught — At best a little hoard 
Of learning ! I have gained scarce one good round 
In wisdom’s ladder ! As I rose I found 
The ladder lengthening up, up, upward still ! 


“ Bright, oh ! dazzling bright 
Glow the high rounds, the loftier from the sight 
And closer, till they blaze in blended streaks ; 
And yet up, up until the sunlight wreaks 
So rich its dazzling splendor all seems there 
Some seraph pinion poised in middle air ; 

Until in one grand, overwhelming, blinding flash, 
Lost is the ladder ! O that I might dash 
In one grand sweep, as up the eagle sweeps. 

And gain the summit ! Vain my spirit leaps 
Within ; for it is prisoned in the clay. 

I may not soar on such far wing away, 

Yet knowledge I will grasp. 


ARMINTA. 


61 


“ Yes, I will grasp it ! O’er huge tomes I’ve bowed 
Until my sight was mist, my brain was cloud, 

And yet I grasped it not ! A voice within 
Said ‘ Toil ! thou must toil if hopest thou to win ! ’ 
And then I toiled the more. Ha, knowledge grand. 
In the high heaven thou takest thy glorious stand ! 
Infinite space between that stand and me ; 

Yet will I soar, and soar, and soar to thee. 

“I will grasp knowledge ! Slowly hour by hour 
I rise the ladder ! One round have I gained 
With painful strength ; yet if my life-blood stained 
The rounds, up still, up still until I die. 

Shall slope my pathway to the starry sky.” 


For some time she directed her energies to- 
ward the attaining of this one good. She gave 
herself to study with the enthusiasm of youth 
combined with a strong will power and an in- 
herent love of learning. She made commenda- 
ble progress, but found her poem proving true — 
she saw the glow of higher rounds in the intel- 
lectual ladder and sought to gain them, sighing 
like the author of the poem to “ Dash in one 
grand sweep as up the eagle sweeps, and gain 
the summit.” But like him she found labor the 
price of attainment and that “ Slowly, hour by 
hour,” the ascent must be made. 

Of late another element had entered into her 
animating life principle. She had come to re- 
alize that intellect without heart culture is but 
as the chilling glitter of the ice palace or the 


62 


TENDING UPWARD. 


sharp scintillations of the electric light. The 
love of God had entered her soul and, like the 
leaven in the meal, it was permeating her char- 
acter and leading her to view her life relations 
in their true light, but the leavening process 
was slow. Many mistakes left their impress and 
many discouragements left darkening shadows. 

Consecration to the Master did not lessen her 
desire for intellectual culture. It only made 
this secondary and placed first, “ The life that 
is hid with Christ in God.” 

In the spiritual as in the intellectual life she 
had her asperations. Her past life seemed too 
tame and trivial. She longed to do some great 
thing and thereby witness her devotion to him 
to whom her life justly belonged. Early in life 
she became interested in the subject of foreign 
missions, which interest was greatly increased 
a short time previous to the opening of our 
story, through a visit which the family received 
from a missionary brother of her mother. Up 
to the time of this visit, this uncle she had never 
seen, but she knew much of him through hear- 
say. Her impressions at this time can best be 
gathered from a letter written by herself years 
afterward when results bore witness to their 
power. 

The extract from the letter ran thus : — 

“ Of this uncle I had heard from my cradle. 


AEMINTA. 


63 


and in such a way that to my childish mind he 
seemed to belong to a superior order of beings. 
I never dreaded meeting any one more in my 
life, and, in fact, I would not meet him until 
my mother had spoken to me quite positively 
on the subject. 

‘‘ But he had not been in the house an hour 
before I saw my mistake. A more genial man 
I never saw. He won Lily at once through 
his interest in her dolls and picture books, and 
chatted with Fred as though he had himself 
never laid aside hoop and ball, or forgotten any 
'boyish sport. 

“ When my turn came, before I was scarcely 
aware of it I found myself speaking to him of 
desires and aspirations which I had never men- 
tioned, even to my mother. 

“ On the subject of missions he said little until 
evening when, in response to urgent appeals 
from Fred and Lily for a missionary story, he 
gave a talk which left a lasting impression on 
my mind. His special work lay in India. 

“ He spoke quietly, but with the pathos of a 
soul burdened beyond expression with the 
needs of the benighted, and a burning desire 
that others should feel that need. His words 
thrilled me through and through. 

“ How I pitied the mourning Parsees as they 
thought of their dead, or of their souls as 


64 


TENDING UPWARD. 


dwelling in the bodies of those repulsive ani- 
mals ! I wished as never before that I could do 
something to lead them into the light. I think 
my interest must have manifested itself, but 
without seeming to notice it, the speaker dwelt 
specially upon the great need of woman’s work 
in foreign fields. He said that in many cases 
the separation between the sexes was so marked 
that work for women could only be done by 
women. Women could go where men could 
not ; and it needed woman with her ready sym- 
pathy and tact to enter heathen homes carrying 
with her, as she so well knew how to do, the 
sunshine of Christian love. Such visits he said, 
could not fail to tell upon the poor, down-trod- 
den w^omen of heathendom. 

“ How I felt the sadness of his words as he 
added : — ‘ The sunshine of Christian love and 
sympathy is a new experience in many an Ori- 
ental home.’ 

“ I do not think he realized the power of his 
words. They were the overflow of a soul con- 
secrated to the Master and of a great heart going 
out in love and pity toward those for whom 
Christ died, but who were buried in the depths 
of ignorance and superstition. 

“ I remember that, when drawing out his 
watch and noticing the lateness of the hour he 
brought his talk to an abrupt close. I went at 


ARMINTA. 


65 


once to my room. I wanted to be alone and 
think, and I have done a great deal of thinking 
on that subject since.” 

This visit of her uncle's had turned the cur- 
rent of Arminta’s thoughts into a new channel 
and with the force of her nature she had set- 
tled upon the thought of becoming a foreign 
missionary when, as is so often the case, in the 
history of the individual, her plans were broken 
in upon and her fairy castle which had loomed 
up so grandly lay in a mass of ruins at her 
feet. 

The death of her mother had come, not only 
with its crushing weight of sorrow, but it bade 
her lay aside other considerations and meet the 
demands of the hour by unselfish devotion to 
home interests, in the routine of practical, 
every-day life. Her mother’s last words to her 
were: — “Be patient with Fred and Lily, and 
seek to make home the pleasantest spot on 
earth for them and your father.” 

Oh! the power of last words. How they 
cling to the memory with their tenacious grasp, 
refusing to be ignored or set aside I How often 
in hours of vexation or selfish aspiration did 
Arminta wish those had never been spoken I 
But they bound her with the holy band of 
mother love which she never dared sever or 
render less strong through lack of effort. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


AUNT HANNAH. 

** Our welcome will be sweeter at the ending 
If it be known 

That we have helped some struggling, fainting brother 
To stand alone.’’ 

^^T\OWN, George Washington, and let me 
^ have my chair! I’m weary to-night 
and want to rest — weary not only of body but 
of mind. Weary with the burdens of eighty 
years and with sighing for the rest that is still 
delayed. Weary with the knowledge of sorrow 
and suffering which I cannot remove ; and yet, 
thank God, unto me it is given to lighten the 
sorrow through sympathy, and lessen the pain 
by a word of cheer.” 

The character addressed as George Washing- 
ton, was a large maltese cat, who at the sound 
of his mistress’s voice, rose from the cushion of 
Aunt Hannah’s chair, arched his back, stretched 
himself after the manner of over-petted cats in 
general, then deliberately jumped to the floor 
and as deliberately assumed a sitting posture on 
a handsome hassock which stood near and com- 
menced purring in a most decided manner. 

(66) > ^ 


AUNT HANNAH. 


67 


The maltese bore the name of the “Father of 
his Country ” on account of what Robert Sin- 
ton, Aunt Hannah’s grandson, termed his strik- 
ing resemblance to that individual. 

George Washington having vacated the chair, 
Aunt Hannah sat down, and folding her with- 
ered hands upon her lap gave herself up to her 
meditations. 

Of these meditations her face was an index, 
and they bore that peculiar phase of sadness 
which is the result of intense sympathy with 
another combined with a sense of powerlessness 
to help. 

Then her eyes are raised toward heaven, her 
lips move silently and all traces of pain are lost 
in an expression of holy calm, and her face set- 
tles into its usual benignity as she takes from a 
stand beside her her knitting work, and slowly 
unrolling a nearly finished sock commences 
those rounds which will soon bring to her the 
satisfaction of a completed task. 

Aunt Hannah was one of those sweet old 
ladies whose relationship is rather that of soul 
than of blood. She was aunt to all who knew 
her and it was a question whether half her ac- 
quaintances knew her surname at all. Her only 
living relative was the Robert to whom refer- 
ence has already been made, and he was the son 
of the Robbie who was noticed in the opening 


68 


TENDING UPWARD, 


chapter. Four score years had not passed by 
Aunt Hannah without leaving their traces. 
The strength of earlier life had fled. Her eyes 
were dimmed with long night watches and her 
trembling hands refused to perform longer 
those ministries which for years it had been her 
joy to render beside sick beds. 

For twenty years she had been a widow. 
Her husband had left her a comfortable supply 
of this world’s goods and people said she had 
no need to work, but she was not one to sit 
down with folded hands and let sorrow wither 
her soul and sap life of its freshness and its 
power for good. So long as she had the requh 
site strength she spent much time in minister- 
ing to the sick among her friends and acquaint- 
ances ; a position for which her ready sympathy 
and greatness of heart specially fltted her. 

When failing strength made it necessary to 
give up this occupation she had gone to live 
with her only child, but the death of both this 
son and his wife having occurred, two years 
previous to the opening of our story, she and 
young Robert — the latter then eighteen years 
of age — had decided to rent the tenant house on 
Grove Farm and make that their home until 
the latter, who was preparing for college, should 
complete his college course, when something 
else might be decided upon, 


AUNT HANNAH. 


69 


Aunt Hannah was desirous to secure a home 
in the country. She said farm life reminded 
her so strongly of her early experiences — - 
memories which she cherished with fondest re- 
collection. She was not one who was always 
holding up the Past as good and the Present as 
evil. She rejoiced in the present, enjoying its 
good with eager zest, and accepting to-day with 
thanksgiving for its benefits, and yet, as is com- 
mon with age, she saw much of life’s sun- 
shine on the receding hills which stood so 
clearly defined against the brightness of life’s 
horizon. She was also influenced in her deci- 
sion by the fact that Robert agreed with her in 
a wish for a home in the country where he could 
spend his vacations. 

Grove Farm cottage was specially adapted to 
her use. It stood on a rise of ground where it 
commanded a fine view of the surrounding 
country, including the pretty village about a 
quarter of a mile away, whose white cottages 
peered through the dense foliage of encirling 
maples as if to assert their natural right to a 
share of air and sunshine ; and whose church 
spires, towering above the tree tops, seemed in- 
dex fingers pointing heavenward and teaching 
the lesson that above and beyond all other glory 
and beauty, was that of the faith which had 
reared the structures of which they stood the 


70 


TENDING UPWARD. 


crowning pinnacles. Unlike most houses built 
to rent, it had a broad veranda which, to Aunt 
Hannah, added greatly to its desirability. Here, 
during the long summer days, she used to sit 
hour after hour, gazing out over the landscape ; 
sometimes in the spirit of the present, drinking 
in the beauty of the scene, but oftener with a 
dreamy, far-away look in her faded gray eyes 
which spoke of the past as holding possession of 
mind and heart. 

But neither present nor past seemed to dis- 
turb the calm serenity of that aged face where 
sweetness sat enthroned, in spite of the united 
attempts of age, sickness and trouble to de- 
throne it. 

A slight storm -wind will lay prostrate the 
grain of a season’s growth and uproot the sap- 
ling whose roots know naught of other than 
surface soil, but disturbs not the sturdy oak. 
So this aged soul whose calm serenity was 
so plainly indexed by the sweet, placid face. 
She was a tower of strength unto which 
many resorted on account of her unfailing good 
judgment and the value of her advice, yet she 
was not obtrusive in the giving of opinion. 
She possessed in large degree that tact which 
recognizes the power of judicious silence as 
well as knows the time for the seasonable 
word, hence she was a safe guide. Her dress 


AUNT HANNAH. 


71 


was of the conventional gray worn by the 
Society of Friends, to which she belonged in 
her earlier days and to whose customs and 
manner of speech she still in a measure ad- 
hered; but so well did this color harmonize 
with her countenance and her snowy hair, as to 
give one the feeling that no change was to be 
desired. Around her neck she always wore a 
plaited kerchief of spotless white which, strange 
to say, no one remembered to have seen fast- 
ened with other than a somewhat elaborate 
gold pin of the style worn many years ago, 
which answered the twofold purpose of fast- 
ening the collar and becoming a receptacle for 
miniatures or treasured locks of hair. 

Why she always wore this nobody knew, for 
to none did she care to speak of its hallowed 
association with “ Zekiel ’’ and her wedding 
day, but in a conspicuous place among articles 
prepared for burial robes, she had placed a note 
requesting that it occupy its accustomed place 
after her decease. The clasp which fastened 
the miniature part of this pin had lost none of 
its elasticity, for it was only required to do 
duty once a year. Then trembling fingers 
threw back the lid and disclosed on one side a 
daguerreotype so faded as to be scarcely dis- 
cernible and on the other a bit of paper yel- 
lowed with age, on which the faded ink had 


72 


TENDING UPWARD. 


still enough of color left to make readable the 
date, “ Oct. 19, 18 — 

What different meanings things take on to 
different minds, and what centres around which 
cluster sacred thought and feeling most trivial 
things become? To other than the owner this 
collar pin would have been only a bit of jewelry 
too old-fashioned for, present use, and of value 
only to the lover of relics, or for its intrinsic 
worth in dollars and cents. But to Aunt 
Hannah, it meant the memory of betrothal joys 
and the solemn pledges of the wedding day, — 
the date meant the former, and the picture, so 
faded now as to resemble to none but herself 
her bridegroom, was given her, together with 
the pin, on that memorable occasion. 

The interior furnishing of the house seemed 
hardly in keeping with its plain exterior, or with 
the ignoring of present fashion wdiich charac- 
terized the personal appearance of the mistress. 
The carpets were of late and delicate patterns, 
and the upholstery of a style worthy of more 
pretentious surroundings. The walls were 
covered with rare pictures, and curious bric-a- 
brac attracted the attention of visitors. There 
was no attempt at display — only the making of 
the house attractive, and the word HOME, was 
characterized by its every appointment. To 


AUNT HANNAH. 


73 


this home many resorted, drawn by various 
powers of attraction. 

Children had a decided taste for Aunt Han- 
nah’s crullers, and looked with wondering eyes 
at the picture books kept for their use, or 
amused themselves with the toys which stood 
at hand for any who grew restless with more 
quiet amusements. Now and then, as a great 
treat, some treasured toy that had belonged to 
her own Robbie in his childhood was brought 
out and exhibited by the old lady with an 
almost childish interest, and the boy or girl who 
was honored by this unusual attention felt him 
or herself a hero for days afterward. Young 
people loved to listen to her stories of frontier 
life, and older ones sought her society as that 
of one in whom they were sure to find a ready 
sympathy in whatever the life experience. 

Happy was it for Arminta that Providence 
had directed Aunt Hannah’s feet to Grove 
Farm cottage. The motherless girl needed just 
such a friend as she found in this aged saint- 
like woman. The two grew to recognize, more 
and more, that soul kinship which leaves years 
out of account and gives little heed to environ- 
ment — that subtle, undefinable something by 
which one knows the heart of the other, and 
through which soul speaks to soul without re- 
sorting to the medium of words. 


74 


TENDING UPWAED. 


Many a time, after an nnusnally trying day, 
Arminta seated herself beside her aged friend 
on the piazza, and together they watched the 
descending sun as it slowly disappeared below 
the horizon or was lost to sight behind a bank 
of clouds which it illumined and glorified. 

On such occasions Arminta was always glad 
when the sunsets were of the latter kind, for 
they seemed to inspire Aunt Hannah with a 
special glow of soul which voiced itself in a 
flow of words, such as was only called forth 
when she drank in some new conception of 
God through his word or his works. To her 
the sunset meant more than the gilded clouds, 
or the marching out of daylight in obedience 
to the leadership of its king. 

Her quickened imagination saw imaged in the 
unillumined cloud-bank, life in its stern, hard 
view, and her face lighted up with special 
pleasure as she saw the sunlight change the 
darker shade to crimson, or throw over the pile 
that soft, peculiar glow which it was so easy to 
make symbolize the peace and joy brought 
through the illuminating of the Sun of Right- 
eousness as he shines in upon the darkened 
soul. 

Then as the twilight deepened their tongues 
were loosed and Arminta poured out her bur- 
den of soul as she did to no other earthly 


AUNT HANNAH. 


75 


friend, and she always found not only an atten- 
tive listener, but a true sympathizer, whatever 
her mood, and one well fitted to lead her into 
the right way. 

It was on one of these occasions that Aunt 
Hannah related the experience narrated in our 
opening chapter, and it was this interview 
which called forth the expressions with which 
the present chapter commences. 

Arminta went home cheered and comforted, 
ready to take up the life-burden with fresh 
courage and renewed zeal, w^alking more closely 
in the footsteps of her divine Master and trust- 
ing more fully in him for the requisite 
strength. 

Aunt Hannah sat down to meditate, and then 
knelt to hold converse with him to whom she 
had learned to come as a little child to an 
earthly parent, and from whom she drew the 
daily supply of grace and comfort which so 
sweetened and permeated her life and made her 
such a power for good to others. 

Ah ! ’tis not a trivial thing — this soul power 
which we wield, the one over the other. 

“ The wind bloweth where it listeth,” and of 
its coming and going we cannot tell, but we 
tremble at its mighty power as it disports in the 
rushing hurricane ; or raise our heated brows 


76 


TENDING UPWARD, 


to the cooling breezes which seem to come for 
our refreshment, from the fields elysian. 

If the fountain be pure the clear waters 
, which gush forth carry refreshment and life in 
their onward flow. But an impure fountain 
sullies the flowing eurrents, and miasma and 
death are traceable to their noxious vapors and 
sullied waves. 

“ Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
see God,” is a divine precept. Blessed are they 
also as radiating centres from which shine forth 
gleams of blessing to those who feel the touch 
of their consecrated lives. 


CHAPTER IX. 


rOHEBODINGS, 


“ Soon or late to all our dwellings come the spectres of the 
mind, 

Doubts and fears and dread forebodings in the darkness un- 
defined ; 

Round us throng the grim projections of the heart and of 
the brain, 

And our pride of strength is weakness, and the cunning 
hand is vain. 

In the dark we cry like children ; and no answer from on 
high 

Breaks the crystal spheres of silence, and no white wings 
downward fly ; 

But the needed grace we pray for comes to faith and not to 
sight, 

And our prayers themselves drive backward all the spirits 
of the night.’^ 


Whittier, 


ISTER Min ! Sister Min ! You’d better 



^ ‘ Blow your horn,’ for ‘ the sheep are in 

the meadow, the cows are in the corn.’ 

‘‘ I don’t see how Dixie got into the front 
yard, for I stopped up every hole in the fence 
large enough for a rat to crawl through, yester- 
day ; but as I came in, there he was dancing 


( 77 ) 


78 


TENDING UPWARD. 


the funniest jig right in the middle of your new 
flower bed. 

‘‘ Oh, dear ! It was too funny for anything ! ” 
Fred laughed immoderately, then continued : — 
“ I’d have tried to get him out, but, for some un- 
accountable reason — a sly look at his sister ac- 
companied this remark — that lambkin seems to 
have taken a dislike to boys and shows the 
strange taste of preferring the feminine gender. 
Possibly you could induce him to so far restrain 
his ebullition of spirits and stay his disposition 
toward performances which savor of the circus, 
as to change the place of exhibition to other 
quarters, but man is powerless in the realm 
where woman holds sway.” 

“ Sister Min ” was the term by which Fred 
always addressed his sister Arminta. On the 
present occasion that appellation had sounded 
through the house as the speaker entered the 
kitchen door. It reached the sitting room 
where ‘‘ Sister Min ” sat busily engaged in look- 
ing over a copy of the ‘‘ Century,” which had 
just been brought from the post-ofBce. 

She had been busy with housework all the 
morning, and after the dinner work was finished, 
had induced Fred to help her make a bed for 
pansy seeds, in the front yard. The bed being 
finished, Fred had gone to the creek for some 
willows with which to make an ornamental 


FOKEBODINGS. 


79 


border, and Arminta went into the house to 
await his return, before putting in the seeds 
which were to be sown according to a plan he 
had suggested. 

Dixie was a disowned lamb which Mr. Sher- 
man brought to the house one cold morning, 
and gave to Arminta if she would feed and care 
for it. Under Arminta’s care Dixie thrived 
and began to take on very lambish ways, but 
at this period of our story, had not as yet at- 
tained unto the dignity of sheephood. He was 
petted to his heart’s content, and allowed great 
liberty. To Arminta he was strongly attached, 
but Fred had teased him so much as to make 
him shy and not over-desirous for companion- 
ship which might prove annoying. No one had 
noticed that he followed Arminta when she 
went into the front yard. He put in no appear- 
ance during her stay there, and when she re- 
turned to the house he was still cropping grass 
behind a clump of lilac bushes. 

Exasperated as Arminta was at the thought 
of her despoiled flower bed, Dixie was too 
much for her ill humor, and she laughed as 
heartily as Fred at his funny pranks. Then 
making him captive she led him from the yard, 
and with Fred’s help set to work to repair dam- 
ages and finish the job. When the seeds were 
sown and the border arranged to the satisfac- 


80 


TENDING UPWARD. 


tion of both parties, the brother and sister sat 
down on a doorstep to rest, and, as was not 
unusual, drifted into a confidential chat. It 
was very pleasant — the relation which existed 
between this brother and sister. 

Her mother’s dying words sank deep into 
Arminta’s heart and awakened desires and pur- 
poses hitherto unrecognized even by herself. 
From a vague longing for ideal service and 
greatness, circumstances compelled her to turn 
earnest attention toward the living of present, 
every-day life to the glory of God, and in time 
she learned the important lesson, that to do 
rightly the duty that lies nearest is the only 
sure way to attain unto true greatness or ac- 
complish great results. 

At first, the thought of her responsibilty had 
come to her with crushing weight. Scarcely 
more than a child herself, how could she guide 
Fred and Lily or in any measure supply to her 
father the companionship on which death had 
laid so heavy a tribute ? 

It was Aunt Hannah that came to the rescue. 
Aunt Hannah saw Arminta’s need and longed 
to reach forth a helping hand. 

She would gladly have clasped the girl in her 
arms and shielded her from all life’s rough ex- 
periences, but she knew that this might not be 
— that unto each individual is assigned a life 


FOREBODINGS. 


81 


problem which he must demonstrate for himself 
— a life-song whose harmonies or discords can 
only be sounded by him whose heart holds the 
tensioned strings which vibrate to the touch of 
life’s varied forces. 

She recognized the fact that she could benefit 
her most by helping her to act well her part, 
and she knew that this acting required correct 
views and purposes, and a reliance on that di- 
vine strength through which alone, human 
weakness rises to the meeting of opposing 
forces which overpower and wreck characters 
not strongly stayed. 

One of Arminta’s weak points was a disposi- 
tion to worry and borrow trouble, and she 
caused herself an untold amount of unhappi- 
ness before she learned to overcome this weak- 
ness. 

Fred would sail serenely along the life-stream, 
having a good time, and taking in no end of 
amusing objects and experiences, while Arminta 
was wondering if this thing would really hap- 
pen or whether she could possibly come out all 
right if things should turn out thus and so. 
If she sent Fred on an errand and he was gone 
a little longer than she expected she feared 
some evil had befallen him, or that his love of 
fun had over-balanced his judgment and he was 
off on some prank or other. If Lily sneezed. 


82 


TENDING UPWARD. 


there was an indication of a cold, and visions 
of croup with its attendant horrors floated 
through her mind. When the weather was 
warm there might be sun-stroke for her father in 
the hay field ; and when it was cold she wondered 
if the water pipes were suflQciently protected to 
prevent freezing. She lost the enjoyment of 
many a harmless jjleasure through unnecessary 
fear of something wrong in its conditions, and 
many an opportunity of doing or getting good 
lest somebody should think that she was actu- 
ated by a wrong motive. 

To the person who is given to worrying, oc- 
casions are never wanting, for if real troubles 
do not occur fast enough, it is one of the easiest 
things in the world to borrow some, and that 
was what Arminta was continually doing. 

She had often wished that Fred was more de- 
voted to his books, and of late had worked 
herself up into quite a state of worriment over 
the fea,r that he would never become a scholar. 

As usual, it was Aunt Hannah whose divining 
rod discovered the cause of her anxiety and 
who supplied the needed counsel as follows : — 
“ No, Arminty, thee doesn’t need to worry. 
God knows what is best for Fred better than 
thee does, and is exercising the same watchful 
care over him as over thee. If he wants him 
to fill some place where a higher education is 


FOREBODINGS. 


83 


needed, be sure he will open the way toward 
that education and inspire the desire to get it. 
In our lives much is gained by watching the in- 
dications of Providence, and then holding our- 
selves in readiness to follow out the plan sug- 
gested by these indications. Thee would con- 
sider thy father out of his right mind if he 
sowed his oats when the ground was covered 
with snow, or planted his corn just as the win- 
ter w^as coming on. 

‘‘ God gives a time for seed sowing, and the 
farmer, watching closely for the right condi- 
tions of soil and climate, deposits his seed and 
looks forward to the harvest. Even the birds 
note the call to other conditions and migrate 
to a warmer clime at the approach of biting 
autumn winds. The farmer who neglects to 
sow his seed at the proper time or sows with 
improvident hand, finds his crop a failure ; and 
the summer bird who refuses to migrate, finds 
his song suddenly chilled and becomes a victim 
to his own folly. 

“Thee mustn’t expect too much of Fred. 
With him ’tis the spring time yet — the time of 
sunshine, of passing showers and of fitful gales. 
The time when the soil is stirred and the seed 
planted and the most that thee can do at pres- 
ent is to see to it that the conditions are cor- 
rect in so far as lies in thy power. His love for 


84 


TENDING UPWARD. 


thee is very great and thee can lead him much 
as thee will if thee takes the right course. 

“ But if thee will pardon me I want to say — 
don’t worry him with fretting, or give him the 
feeling that he is always being watched through 
fear that he will not do the right thing. To a 
nature like his these two things will work much 
mischief, by making him withdraw within him- 
self instead of confiding in thee. Keep his 
confidence and thee has a mighty lever through 
which to control his life. Make him feel that 
thee expects him to do the right thing and a 
long stride is taken toward the desired result. 

‘‘Then thee has that mightiest of all resources 
— prayer. Do thy duty and then commending 
him to God, rest there. Wait the developments 
which summer brings — till July suns and Au- 
gust heat shall have held their sway — till the 
time of the singing of birds shall have given 
way to the staid notes of riper experiences and 
deeper heart melody.” 

This conversation occurred a short time pre- 
vious to the day of which we have just spoken 
and proved a striking illustration of one of the 
kind of providences to which Aunt Hannah re- 
ferred. It served as a preparation for an un- 
expected disclosure which turned Arminta’s 
thoughts in a new channel and proved a new 
incentive to self-conquest and unselfish devo- 
tion to her brother. 


CHAPTER X. 


DEVELOPMENTS. 

“So subtle are the influeuces which begin afar off to act 
upon us, that the condition and direction of our feelings 
are changed before we notice that we are acted upon.’^ 

H. W. Beecher. 

I T was little wonder that Dixie felt disposed 
to be gay that bright May -day afternoon. 
The weather was perfect and the sky of that 
peculiar blue which sets off to perfection the 
floating, fleecy clouds which drift on and on 
with ever changing forms until they lose them- 
selves in other piles, or dissolve in the over- 
shadowing blue. The earth was just taking on 
that delicate coloring which combines a fare- 
well to the sombre gray of winter with the 
hopes and promises of spring’s renewed life. 
The evergreens nodded and swayed their heavy 
branches against a background of such delicate 
green as seemed almost to deprive them of the 
pride of coloring which the winter, with its 
snows and display of leafless branches, had ac- 
corded them. Crocuses flecked the lawns with 
their varied colors, and daffodils and jonquils 

( 85 ) . . 


86 


TENDING UPWAED. 


asserted their right to a full share of admira- 
tion. The air was full of the sounds of animal 
life. Bird songs trilled and quavered on the 
breeze, or died away in the distance as if to 
make room for more. Swallows flitted in and 
out from under the projecting eaves, chattering 
as if deciding the question whether it werC' bet- 
ter to occupy a former nest or build anew ; 
and doves billed and cooed as they settled the 
matter of a summer home. An occasional low- 
ing of cattle came from the distant hillside, and 
the slow, measured tinkle of tiny bells told of 
a sheep herd, quietly grazing. Chanticleer 
crowed lustily from the top of the barnyard 
gate, while Old Speckle showed unseemly 
symptoms of pride for one of her years, as she 
called her downy brood to share the tempting 
worm which her skillful claws had drawn from 
the yielding soil. 

True, Dixie did not drink in all this, but 
Fred and Arminta did, as they rested and chat- 
ted after completing their task. 

Fred was watching the clouds and letting 
his imagination take in the various pictures 
which their changing forms represented. 

Here was a castle in sober gray, with moat 
and drawbridge clearly deflned, while there an 
ice palace sailed slowly along until it changed 
to a chariot whose prancing steeds assumed the 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


87 


forms of the reindeer used by Santa Claus in his 
annual round. A large arm chair resting on a 
base of sea-foam, changed to a soldier with gun 
and knapsack, and an elephant with projecting 
trunk to a house falling to pieces under the 
power of a cyclone whose chimney survived un- 
til all else had disappeared. His hat was on the 
step beside him, and the breeze toyed with the 
auburn locks which, now and then, he threw 
back from his handsome forehead. 

The practical Arminta was listening rather 
than seeing, and her thoughts traversed far and 
took in a wide range. The bird-songs pleased 
her, but she wondered if those robins would get 
all her raspberries, or if the doves would prove 
troublesome through their undue familiarity. 
The lowing of the cows made her think of 
churning day, and she feared the butter might 
come too soft now that the weather was so 
much warmer, or the milk sour before the cream 
was thoroughly raised. 

Old Speckle walked past with her animated 
feather balls, and she thought of her strawberry 
bed, and what depredations a hen and ten 
chickens would be likely to make on the ripen- 
ing fruit. The tinkle of the sheep bells brought 
Dixie to mind, and she feared he might become 
troublesome through over-much petting. 

Her reverie was broken in upon by Fred, 


88 


TENDING UPWARD. 


who in tones of more depth and earnestness 
than he was wont to assume, said : — ‘‘ Sister 
Min, do you think I’d better go to college ? 
Robert has been talking to me about it for a 
long time, and lately I’ve been wondering if I‘d 
better go in for it.” 

A pause succeeded, then the speaker con- 
tinued : — ‘‘ Bother ! Hoav’s a fellow going to 
stick to it to get through all those long years 
of study? Who wants to be shut up from 
morning till night, pouring over musty books, 
on such a day as this ? Why, I should want 
to stand on my head and turn three somersaults 
every day in the week, before I got half through 
my first term ; and Dixie’s circus performance 
would be nothing to what you might expect 
from me during vacation. 

“ And yet, as Robert says, ‘ a body has got to 
know something in this day and age of the 
world, if he would stand as a man among men.’ 
I heard Judge Sheldon tell Dr. Snow, the 
other day, that if Charlie Canley had had an 
education he would have been one of the smart- 
est men in the town and have commanded a 
good round sum as a lawyer, but now he lives 
on what he can pick up by doing odd jobs 
around the village. 

‘‘I didn’t use to care whether I knew any 
thing or not, but since Robert came it seems dif- 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


89 


ferent. He’s always talking about the reason of 
this thing or that being thus and so, or starting 
out a cause for the sake of following it up with 
an effect. When that won’t do, there’s a 
whole colony of ancient worthies or modern 
heroes to be marshaled out and made to caper 
in most orthodox fashion. 

‘‘ I didn’t use to like it, and made fun of him 
when he tried to talk me into liking such 
things ; but I guess he isn’t far off the track 
after all. 

“ I’ve thought more about it since we were 
down to Uncle John’s, holiday week. Aunt 
Sarah’s brother — that college professor — was 
there too, and he and Robert used to have real 
good talks about men and things. It made me 
feel ashamed that I didn’t know any more. I 
begin to think I want to know something too, 
but, bother ! it’s too much like work to study 
so.” 

With that he shied a stone at a passing bird 
and then added: — “I know mother would like 
it, for I remember hearing her say that next to 
being a Christian, her greatest desire for me was 
a good education. 

“ She was talking to father, and his reply was : 
— ‘ Well, Lilian, the matter of an education 
shall rest with Fred himself. I will give him 
good advantages — he can take a college course 


90 


TENDING UPWARD. 


if he chooses, but there’s no use in sending a 
boy to college unless he shows a pretty decided 
disposition to make something of himself worthy 
of the money and pains bestowed upon him.’ 

“ Then what would I be, supposing I got an 
education ? Not a minister, for reasons too 
manifest to require explanation. Should I at- 
tempt law, my passage to the Presidential chair 
would be so clearly defined and my progress 
toward it so rapid, as to render it probable that 
my career would be interrupted by the hand of 
an assassin fired by the zeal which springs from 
envy ! I might try medicine, but people have 
a choice as to who shall deal out pills and pow- 
ders, and I might get so old before I worked up 
a practice that the sound of my cane would 
shatter more nerves than my professional skill 
would put to rest.” 

With this he turned to his sister, with an ex- 
pression which indicated that he had finished 
what he had to say and waited her reply. 

Just then a whistle sounded down the road, 
and Fred recognized the call of Robert to join 
him on a fishing excursion which had been 
planned the previous day, and seizing his hat 
he flew along the street as though thus far in 
life, his feet were the part of his physical organ- 
ism which had received special attention. 

Arminta was glad to be left alone, that she 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


91 


might have time to think before she ventured a 
reply to her brother’s remarks. Never had he 
so surprised and puzzled her, and never had 
she so felt the need of wisdom and grace to 
direct, that she might say and do the right 
things at the right time. 

His expression — “to stand as a man among 
men ” — had startled her. Hitherto she had 
thought of Fred only as a child, to be directed 
and controlled by others, with little attention 
to the view of the case that he must learn to 
decide and act for himself. Now this new 
phase of the subject presented itself. Child- 
hood had already yielded much ground to youth, 
and the prophecy of manhood was beginning to 
assert itself. To her mind, already he had 
taken a stride forward in his life career and she 
must be equal to the new emergency. As a 
child he had been easy of control, but could she 
act the part of a mother to him now? Visions 
of the trouble that might be, came trooping in, 
but with them came the memory of a quotation 
which Aunt Hannah often used for her benefit : — 
“Don’t cross the 'bridge before you get to it.” 
So greatly had her mind been exercised that she 
could scarcely realize that there was not a de- 
mand for an immediate revolution in her method 
of treatment for this new case, which showed 
such indications of large development. 


92 


TENDING UPWAED. 


Fred go to college — she scarcely realized a 
stronger desire, and yet, as is often the case, 
when there dawned a promise of its fulfillment 
the encircling halo began to recede from the 
fair vision, and sober fact to assume proportions 
less grand and fascinating. Would Fred prove 
equal to the temptations of college life, and 
would he have stamina enough to hold to one 
purpose wdth the grasp which is indispensable 
to success? 

Her mind took in many an unfinished toy 
which still occupied a corner of the garret once 
used by him as a workshop, and only that 
morning he fully decided to prepare a piece of 
ground for raising vegetables for early market- 
ing, but gave up the project before dinner time. 

She knew that her mother had been desirous 
that he should obtain a thorough education, and 
only a short time previous had heard her father 
express sentiments similar to those just referred 
to by Fred. She also knew that just at this 
time much would depend upon her influence 
over her brother. His mind was so easily 
biased that a word from her might decide the 
matter, but what that word should be was the 
question. 

Were she at once to fall in fully with the 
suggestion of entering college, would he not, in 
his headlong impetuosity, lay his plans and 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


93 


centre his hopes so much on final results as to 
overlook the initiatory drudgery of preparation, 
and meeting this at the outset, become dis- 
couraged and turn back before he had begun to 
receive the stimulus of the sparkling waters 
which well up from the fountain of knowledge 
with their nectar for him who drinks freely and 
deep ? 

Again — a discouraging word might prove a 
cold wave which would sweep away incipient 
hopes and quench kindling aspirations before 
they had taken sufficient root to insure a sur- 
vival. Aunt Hannah, with her more extended 
knowledge of human nature and the mind’s 
workings, would have seen in the proposition a 
prophecy of its fulfillment. To her, Fred, like 
Dixie, was sporting in the hey-day of life’s 
springtime. She had noted indications that 
underneath all this lightness of nature was a 
store of undeveloped resources of which neither 
he nor his sister had dreamed. She saw that 
his apparent fickleness was not owing so much 
to lack of will power or of ability to accomplish, 
as to the fact that since his mother’s death he 
had been allowed to drift loosely in directions 
where she would have held him with a firm 
hand, and she felt that the power of his earlier 
training would assert itself.’ But time was 
necessary. Let God work out his own plan. 


94 


TENDING UPWAED. 


All man could do was to stand with willing 
mind and ready hand to carry out these plans 
when they came within the sphere of human 
action. 


CHAPTER XL 


HOUSE CLEANING. 

** Come, rouse thee up, put self aside, 

And serve thy God with care, 

It may be little thou canst do, 

In some small corner hid from view 
Yet he is with you there.’ ^ 

Be good, and let who will be clever ; 

Do noble things, not dream them all day long, 
And so make life, death and the vast forever 
One grand, sweet song.” 

TT was house cleaning time— that horror of 
man kind and trial of woman. 

Though Mr. Sherman seldom interfered with 
household arrangements, on this point he had 
heretofore not only suggested but insisted — 
Granny Maxin must take entire charge of all 
house cleaning operations and relieve Arminta 
from a burden to which he feared that her 
strength might not be equal. But this season 
Arminta had insisted on managing business 
herself and choosing her own help, and her 
father reluctantly yielded the point. 

Perhaps this reluctance was occasioned par- 
tially through visions of dust clouds raised 

( 95 ) 


96 


TENDING UPWAKD 


through the unskillful wielding of broom and 
duster, or he may have had the aversion com- 
mon to mankind of cold dinners and nowhere to 
stay. Granny Maxin’s method gave him little 
discomfort, for commencing with the garret 
she took one room at a time, leaving each in 
order before commencing another, and in this 
way went through the house to the store-room 
and back cellar. 

Arminta preferred a different plan. She 
would have all the up-stairs carpets taken up 
at one time for greater convenience in their 
cleaning, and it would be better to have the 
calcimining done while the carpets were up, 
even though the work stayed a day or two for 
that purpose, yet the workman employed had 
been so careful that she had never experienced 
any inconvenience from having this work done 
according to Granny Maxin’s method. 

She got on finely with the chambers and 
took much credit to herself for the superiority 
of her judgment, when suddenly she came to 
a halt. Granny Maxin was careful to mop the 
floor of a sleeping room early in the day so as 
to be sure of its being dry before bed time, 
but Arminta was not so careful. One day the 
house cleaner had time to do a little more be- 
fore the hour for leaving arrived, and Arminta 
told her she might mop the floor of Lilian’s 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


97 


room so that it would be ready for patting 
down the carpet early next morning, that 
being the last room above stairs to be put in 
order. 

After Lilian’s room was finished the cam- 
paign began in the lower rooms, and soon all 
were dismantled and ready for the renovating 
process. This campaign must be pushed with 
vigor for it was now Thursday, and company 
from the city was expected on the following 
Saturday evening to remain over the Sabbath, 
and every thing must be in order for that 
event. But, alas ; ‘‘ The best laid plans of 
mice and men, gang aft aglae.” 

From babyhood Lilian had been subject to 
attacks of croup, and any indications in her 
case of having taken cold were a subject of 
anxiety to the family. The damp room proved 
too much for her frail constitution, and the next 
morning she seemed listless and irritable. 
Arminta was too busy to give the matter much 
thought at first, but as evening came on Lilian 
grew worse and during the night had a violent 
attack of croup which seriously threatened her 
life. 

This was not all — the house cleaner proved 
one who was not over scrupulous in the matter 
of considering the interests of others, and hav- 
ing taken a sudden freak to do some shopping in 


98 


TENDING UPWATtD. 


the city, took the morning train for that point, 
regardless of the inconvenience which this would 
cause. 

Early in the morning. Aunt Hannah, hear- 
ing of Lilian’s sickness, came with offers of 
assistance which w^ere most gratefully received, 
for Arminta felt incompetent to act as nurse in 
so severe a case. Feeling that Lilian was being 
well cared for, the latter took up the burden of 
work again. But what was to be done with 
Lilian sick, the house in such a state and com- 
pany expected next day ? 

The time came when she could face such 
questions calmly looking for providential indi- 
cations of the thing to be done and quietly 
doing it, but as yet she had not attained unto 
that calm strength which is the outgrowth of a 
living, loving trust in the heavenly Father in 
the every-day affairs of life. 

A legend tells us that to a certain Roman 
king came a sibyl in the guise of a woman, 
with nine books which she wished him to buy. 
The king refused her request, and she went 
away and burned three of the books. Again 
the sibyl came, this time with six books which 
she offered for the same price which she had 
asked for the nine. The second time the king 
refused to buy, and this time laughed at her 
for her strange conduct. Then the sibyl went 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


99 


away again and burned three books more. For 
the third time she came to the king, offering 
the three books which were left for the same 
price which she had before insisted upon. 

The king now consulted his wise men, who 
advised him to buy the books. They told 
him that they contained great secrets and that 
he had done wrong in not buying them all. 

We smile at the folly of the Roman king, as 
we think of his paying for three books the 
price which would have, purchased the nine, 
and yet, how like is this to human experience. 

Annin ta was all in a flutter. She scolded 
Fred so that he put his fingers in his ears and 
ran out of doors and only his good nature 
saved her from self-imposed trouble through 
open defiance on his part. Even Dixie seemed 
to feel the effect of the disturbed atmosphere, 
and plunging his head into and upsetting the 
dish of milk designed for his breakfast, he 
capered away and would not come near his 
mistress again for an hour. Vexation and 
pride held a fierce conflict with conscience and 
common sense that morning. The latter moni- 
tors said, Why not take your father’s advice 
and get Granny Maxin to help you out of your 
difficulty,” while the former forces flaunted 
self-assertion and personal dislike in formidable 
array of contention, 


100 


TENDING UPWARD. 


It was Fred who led to a decision in the 
case with his : — ‘‘ Well, Sister Min, won’t it be 
nice to have Mr. and Mrs. Norton find you in 
this plight? They’ll take you for such a fam- 
ous housekeeper that they’ll be sure to tell 
Luke that you’ve improved wonderfully since 
he was here, and he’ll be anxious to come again 
if only to see if this is true.” 

Evidently this remark referred to some ex- 
perience on the part of Arminta the recalling 
of which was not specially pleasant, for she 
blushed and seemed desirous to cut the con- 
versation short, which she did by asking Fred 
to go at once and bring Granny Maxin. 

That methodical workwoman was not well 
pleased with Arminta’s plans and did not hesi- 
tate to manifest her preference for her own 
method, but she set to work with a will, mak- 
ing each move count in the right direction in 
a way that gave large promise of desired re- 
sults before the arrival of the guests. 

The meantime her tongue kept pace with 
her hands whenever she was fortunate enough 
to secure a listener, 

She could tell just how it came about that 
Mrs. Larkin sent her daughter to Boston to 
study music instead of to New York as was ex- 
pected, and she thought Mr. Leonard’s son 
Harry showed a decided tendency toward fast 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


101 


ways which would interfere with the increase 
of his father’s wealth, if that father didn’t hold 
the reins a little tighter. 

It might be all rights but she’d like to know 
who that lady was who was out riding with Dr. 
Loval that morning. She also saw them riding 
together on the previous day — 

And so she rattled on until Arminta’s dis- 
gust knew no bounds. The latter was com- 
paratively free from a taste for gossip, and 
wrapping this robe of superiority about her, 
she looked down on poor ignorant Granny 
Maxin with an ‘‘I am holier than thou” feel- 
ing which savored little of charity. 

But not so Aunt Hannah who hearing 
Granny Maxin’s last implied criticism, quietly 
remarked : — It was kind of the doctor to take 
his sister out for a drive, as she lives in the 
city where she does not get many rides, and 
the fresh air does one so much good.” 

This was not designed as a rebuke, but 
Arminta could not help seeing the contrast be- 
tween the two courses, and feeling the differ- 
ence of spirit that occasioned the difference of 
act, and this comparison did not add to her 
peace of mind. A striking defect in her char- 
acter was her spirit of self-satisfaction which 
was carried to such an extent as to lead her to 


102 


TENDING UPWAED. 


have little charity for those who did not come 
up to her standard in action or opinion. 

This combined with her disposition to worry 
which we have before noted, gave her large oc- 
casion for labor in the home field of her own 
heart, before she would be prepared to do most 
effective service in helping others toward a 
higher plane of living. Less of self and more 
of Christ must be her equipment before she 
would be prepared for the valiant service to- 
ward which she turned in her ideals and for 
which her soul really longed. She needed to 
become fully persuaded that, to lose the individ- 
ual will in the will of God, is the great end 
to be sought — that in which alone lies true life 
success. 

When Sunday came she felt so tired and dis- 
pirited that she would have stayed away from 
church but for the reason that she felt in duty 
bound to accompany her guests. For this 
reason alone she filled her accustomed place in 
the family pew that morning, but to her dying 
day she thanked God for the influence which 
held her to the path of duty when her uncer- 
tain footsteps faltered. How strange it seems 
— the way in which God makes seemingly slight 
providences the weight which turns the scales 
toward important results ! 

It is said that the use of the telescope orig- 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


103 


mated with the children of a Holland spectacle 
maker, who in playing placed a convex and a 
concave glass together in such a wa}^ that when 
they looked through them at the weathervane 
they noticed that it looked both larger and 
nearer. They attracted the attention of their 
father to the matter, and to him was given 
great credit for the discovery. 

During the opening hymn Arminta’s mind 
still wandered, but the prayer seemed specially 
designed to lead her back toward God and 
peace. Her pastor was an old man with sil- 
vered locks and an air of feebleness that indi- 
cated that his days were fast being numbered, 
but when he breathed out his soul in prayer, or 
poured forth the calm, unimpassioned words 
given him to deliver as messages from God to 
men, one forgot to think of his age or of the 
man at all, in interest in the message. So 
sweet and placid was his face and so loving his 
manner, he reminded one of the Apostle John 
as one gets an idea of him from the legend 
that when he became too old and feeble to 
preach longer he used to say to his followers — 
“Little children, love one another.’’ 

His sermon was so simple that the child 
could understand it, and yet it was marked by 
a spirit that indicated that like Enoch he had 

walked with God ” and by an eloquence based 


104 


TENDING UPWARD. 


on heavenly harmonies. He introduced his ser- 
mon with a reference to the passage immedi- 
ately preceding his text : — ‘‘Are not two spar- 
rows sold for a farthing ? and one of them shall 
not fall on the ground without your Father.” 
He also referred to the one where the lilies of 
the field are spoken of as objects of God’s 
special attention, making impressive the thought 
that he who created worlds should stoop to 
array a lily in a glory surpassing that of Solo- 
mon’s. 

Then he referred to the thrill of soul with 
which he used, when in college, to listen to ono 
of his Professors who afterward became a cele- 
brated astronomer, as he told his class of the 
wonders which science discloses of the heavenly 
bodies. 

Of the sun, that stupendous globe containing 
four hundred times as much matter as all plan- 
ets united, and which is nearly a million and a 
half times larger than our earth — the great 
centre of the solar system around which all the 
other planets revolve, and the dispenser of light 
and heat to all : — so distant that a railroad train 
running at the rate of sixty miles per hour 
would require more than one hundred and sev- 
enty years to travel this distance. And yet it 
is this sun which supplies the light and heat 
which give life to the vegetation of our earth, 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


105 


and without which animal life would cease to 
exist. Of the secondary planets revolving 
around the primaries as they travel around 
the sun. Of the fixed stars, so distant that 
were they put out of existence at the present 
time it would be years before we could be- 
come sensible of the fact. Of the phases of 
the moon, tides, alternation of day and night 
and the vicissitudes of the seasons — all gov- 
erned by the same fixedness of law which 
marks the other wonders of the regions of 
space. 

The speaker lost himself in his theme as he 
dwelt on these incomprehensible things. He 
said it was no wonder that ‘‘ When Sir Isaac 
Newton was near demonstrating the great truth 
that gravity is the cause which keeps the heav- 
enly bodies in their orbits, he became so agi- 
tated in his thoughts of the magnitude and con- 
sequence of this discovery, as to be unable to 
proceed with his demonstrations, and desired 
a friend to finish what the intensity of his feel- 
ings would not allow him to complete. 

Then, with a depth of tone which showed 
that his words were the expression of his heart’s 
convictions he continued : — And yet, he who 
created all these worlds and instituted the laws 
by which they are controlled and kept in their 


106 


TENDING UPWABD. 


places, is the same God who clothes the lilies 
and notes the falling of the sparrow. 

This thought is. beyond the grasp of our 
finite minds, and yet we cannot but feel its 
power. 

Ah ! God careth for his creatures. He clothes 
the universe with beauty that thereby he may 
add to the happiness of those for whom he cares. 

Why, but for this reason, does so much of 
joy centre around our daily lives? Why do 
love and friendship fill so large a space in our 
hearts’ choicest habitations ? And social rela- 
tions give sweet foretastes of future joys ? 

But above and infinitely beyond all else is 
this— the great sacrificial atonement was also 
individual. Christ died for you, he died for me 
— that he might redeem us from all iniquity. 

A pause ensued, and then came the solemn 
question — How is it to-day with you and 
with me ? Do we accept this sacrifice and let 
it redeem us from sin ? Are our daily lives a 
perpetual warfare against the power of evil 
within — a continual looking unto God and 
opening up of the heart to him, that he may 
make it so. pure that it shall be a fountain from 
which shall continually flow streams of bless- 
ing which shall prove true refreshment to those 
who come within the scope of their contact ? 

If you truly love a person, do you not feel 


HOUSE CLEANING. 


107 


an interest in whatever enters into his life ? and 
is the infinite God less in this respect than you? 

Let us, therefore, go to God whatever our 
need. 


CHAPTER XIL 


ROBERT SINTON. 

“ If only we strive to be pure and true, 

To each of us there will come an hour 
When the tree of life shall burst into flower, 

And rain at our feet the glorious dower 
Of something grander than ever we knew.” 

13 OBERT Sinton is no indifferent character* 
As we have already stated, he was the 
son of the “ Robbie ” who appears in our open- 
ing chapter. Robert, senior, grew up in the 
new west, and in character exhibited the energy 
and business thrift which comes through con- 
stant contact with these qualities in early life. 

His wife was of a gentle nature, refined in 
taste and fond of reading and study. 

Robert, junior, inherited in a marked degree 
these characteristics of his parents. He was a 
restless, uneasy child of inquiring mind, a con- 
stant tax on his mother with his demand for 
occupation, and a disposition to know all the 
ins and outs of a subject in which he became 
interested. He also manifested a strong ten- 
dency toward handling objects which came 
within his reach, for the purpose of investiga- 
( 108 ) 


EGBERT SINTON. 


109 


tion. When scarcely more than a baby his 
black eyes sparkled with delight at the interior 
view of his mother’s watch, which he had suc- 
ceeded in reaching while the owner supposed it 
to be securely lying on the bureau in her room, 
and many a toy suffered wreck and ruin to 
gratify his curiosity as to what might be inside. 
His was a bright, happy temperament bubbling 
over with merriment and fun. Any unusual 
conditions about the house were usually traced 
to him as their source. 

Betty, the servant girl, never thought of in- 
quiring of other than him for articles missing 
from the kitchen, and if his mother found her 
work basket upset or in a muss, Robert at once 
came to her mind as the cause of the mischief. 
As he grew older his mother learned that there 
was one way in which she could be sure of 
quiet on his part. Give him a book which in- 
terested him, and there would be no more 
trouble with him for a long time. 

He was a child of many prayers and of care- 
ful Christian training. Naturally the result of 
these conditions became apparent, and early in 
life he publicly consecrated himself to the Mas- 
ter and took the vows of the church upon him. 
Thus he grew up an earnest, active Christian, 
his young life giving promise of large useful- 
ness in the future. 


no 


TENDING UPWAED. 


His fondness for books developed with his 
years and settled into a purpose to obtain a 
thorough education. This purpose was in ac- 
cord with the mind of his parents and good 
educational advantages were afforded him. 
These advantages were improved, and at an 
early age he entered college. 

When on the death of his parents, his grand- 
mother fell to his care, he accepted this care 
not as a burden but as a precious legacy and 
most nobly did he act his part. It was beauti- 
ful to see — the relation which existed between 
these two. 

It was not strange that Aunt Hannah’s 
hopes centred in him. He was the apple of 
her eye, her earthly prop, the staff of her de- 
clining years. What Robert liked to eat de- 
cided the bill of fare for breakfast, dinner and 
tea ; and how he liked to have this or that 
thing placed, the arrangement of the various 
rooms. Were he sick, it was only to quiet his 
importunity that she would take needed rest, 
and if sick herself, her only worry was lest 
Robert suffer thereby. Not wishing him to 
feel any lack of society, her house was always 
open to his friends, and to listen to one of 
Aunt Hannah’s stories of frontier life was con- 
sidered a great treat by young people in gen- 
eral. 


ROBEET SINTON. 


Ill 


Robert’s devotion to his grandmother was no 
less marked. He shared the burden of the 
household, helping her with her work in num« 
berless ways, and always so pleasantly and with 
such tact as to relieve her of the feeling that 
he was acting out of place in the domestic 
sphere. He gave her no pain through thought- 
less neglect, and her wish was his law. He 
caressed her as lovingly as though she were his 
bride-elect and kissed her wrinkled cheek with 
worshipful reverence. 

It was a trial to both when Robert entered 
college, but each sought bravely to cheer the 
other, and both looked forward to vacations as 
red-letter days. For both families it was a 
happy providence which brought the Sinton’s 
to Grove Farm cottage. 

Arminta in her youth and inexperience 
needed the wisdom and strength which Aunt 
Hannah had to give through her many years of 
experience, and age is ever blessed through 
loving contact with pure young life. 

Robert and Fred at once joined hand and 
heart in a life long friendship. They were as 
unlike as April and October, but this very un- 
likeness seemed to further the claim of each to 
the good will of the other and strengthen the 
bond of their union. It was remarked that 
they were never known to disagree. This re- 


112 


TENDING UPWABD. 


mark was met by the suggestion that Fred was 
never known to rouse out of his good nature 
suflBciently to sustain a quarrel, and this was 
considered a satisfactory solution of the matter 
in question. 

Robert was the more positive character, and, 
fortunately for Fred he was the leader, for his 
companionship was safe and he could lead 
without making himself disagreeable through 
self assertion. . 

Fred needed contact with a boy of Robert’s 
stamp. His easy going, indolently inclined na- 
ture was based upon a sub-stratum of energy 
capable of development, and the question had 
come to be what element of his character was to 
gain the ascendant. His home life was not 
calculated to rouse dormant faculties and it was 
fortunate that he should come closely in con- 
tact with some animating force which would 
inspire him with a desire to make the most of 
himself, and Robert proved that force. 

Thus God shapes our lives by bringing to 
bear upon us influences which tend to develop 
our powers. It is said that in South America 
there is a species of cactus the blossoms of 
which are only visible when the wind blows. 
So there are elements of character which 
scarcely impress themselves even upon their 
possessor until some force outside of himself 


ROBERT SINTON. 


113 


tends to bring them forth, and the greatest sur- 
prise in view of these unlooked for develop- 
ments is sometimes to one’s self. 

Robert’s vacations were looked forward to by 
the Shermans with an interest second only to 
that of Aunt Hannah. During this period 
few days passed in which he and Fred did not 
spend a considerable time together. When ex- 
tra help was required during the haying season, 
Mr. Sherman was glad to employ him for he 
was considered excellent help, and in this role 
he appears in another chapter. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


CUSTAIiD PIE. 

** The entrance of thy words giveth light.” 

“ All common things, each day’s events, 

That with the hour begin and end ; 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 

Are rounds by which we may ascend.” 

Longfellow, 

T he haying season had commenced, and this 
meant a busy time for farmers’ families 
both out of doors and in. The old adage 
‘‘ Make hay while the sun shines ” means more 
than sentiment when June grass and clover are 
in early blossom and timothy waits its cutting, 
while the ox-eye daisies fall before the devastat- 
ing blades lest they scatter their noxious seeds 
for future growth. 

When the weather is good other work must 
be gotten through with as soon as possible 
in order that the men may hie to the mead- 
ows, and with farmer’s households it is a gener- 
ally accepted condition that the ‘‘ men-folks ” 
must not at this time be called on for help 
which will interfere with the important busi- 
( 114 ) . 


CtTSTAKD PIE. 


115 


ness in hand. Arminta recognized this law 
and told Fred that for a time he might be 
excused from his usual task of bringing in 
wood and water, but he replied that notwith- 
standing his severe labors in the field — the 
burdensome task of keeping Robert at his 
work included — he thought he should still 
prove equal to performing this accustomed 
service if she would be kind enough to excuse 
him from devoting so much time to the train- 
ing of the trick lambkin — a suggestion to the 
carrying out of which neither Arminta nor 
Dixie had the slightest objection. 

It was the morning of a hot July day. The 
sun rose in a brazen, cloudless sky and seemed 
to absorb with his burning rays, the little of 
freshness that existed in the debilitating air be- 
fore his coming. Arminta rose feeling the in- 
fiuence of the depressing weather, and com- 
menced the duties of the day. As she set about 
preparations for the mid-day meal, she remem- 
bered that Fred had told her that he had in- 
vited Robert to dine with them on that day, 
and thinking that it would be lonely for Aunt 
Hannah to take dinner alone, she sent Lilian to 
invite her to join them. Knowing that both 
Fred and Robert were specially fond of custard 
pie, she made a nice one which she gave a bake 
that even Aunt Hannah could not have im- 


116 


TENDING UPWARD. 


proved upon. When she took it from the oven 
the air of the pantry seemed so warm that she 
placed a screen over it and put it on a bench 
which stood on the back piazza to cool. As 
she did so she noticed Robert and Fred just 
driving past the house to the barn with a load 
of hay. She nodded pleasantly and passed on 
thinking no more about it at that time, but she 
afterward recalled the fact that soon after she 
heard them come to the well for a drink of 
water. 

About an hour afterward she heard Dixie 
bleating on the back piazza. As that was un- 
usual she went to investigate the matter and 
found the lamb who was fastened by the ham- 
mock rope to a door knob, standing meekly by 
the empty plate on which had been her nice 
custard pie. Of course she at once recognized 
the fact that Dixie had nothing to do toward 
the disappearance of the dessert, and there was 
no doubt as to who the perpetrators of the 
deed might be. To say that she was vexed 
would be putting it lightly. What was she to 
do for dessert for dinner at that late hour of a 
hot forenoon, and Aunt Hannah and Robert 
there too? Once she would have cherished her 
vexation and have made herself uncomfortable 
for the rest of the day. But of late she had 
been trying to let the sweet influences of heav- 


CUSTAED PIE. 


117 


enly love enter more fully into her life with 
their transforming power. 

She had never forgotten her pastor’s words 
on that memorable Sabbath when his sermon 
meant so much to her : — ‘‘ Christ died for you, 
he died for me, that he might redeem us from 
all iniquity.’^ 

His appealing question : — “ Do we accept 
this sacrifice and let it redeem us from sin ? ” 
had demanded answer of her soul — an answer 
which included a rousing which was the initia- 
tory step toward the higher levels of better 
thought, more thorough consecration and holier 
living. 

There are moments in our lives when the 
soul seems to burst the bands with which earth 
and sin trammel it, and make great strides in the 
upward way ; moments when time and earthly 
conditions are set at naught and the inner life 
comes into close contact with the author of 
its being and feels the irresistible impulse of 
that mighty power received through this con- 
tact ; moments from which one cannot go 
back, and through whose experience the soul 
is enlarged, and strengthened anew for the fierce 
conflict with the powers of evil. These mo- 
ments exalt life — make it seem a higher, ho- 
lier thing to live — a more solemn thing to 
touch other lives, knowing that through this 


118 


TENDING UPWAED. 


contact must come either good or ill to other 
souls — and a more desirable thing to attain 
unto the plaudit ; — “ Blessed are the pure in 
heart.” 

Arminta passed one of these transition stages 
on the evening of the Sabbath already referred 
to. Hitherto she had lived largely in the ideal, 
but henceforth, while the ideal would lose none 
of its power, real living would assume vaster 
proportions in her mind, both as something to 
be made the most of and as an intensely prac- 
tical thing. The closing thoughts of that 
remembered sermon had moved her deeply. 
They seemed to touch so closely her need : — 

‘‘He who numbers the hairs of your head 
careth for you in all your life relations. I know 
the natural feeling is — God does not care for 
these — but this is a great mistake. Let us, 
therefore, go to God whatever our need.” 

All her life she had been making just the 
mistake mentioned — that of feeling that life’s 
every-day affairs were too trifling to carry to 
the heavenly Father. But she saw it differently 
now, and her life would be better for the seeing. 
There was such comfort in the feeling that 
God cared for her personally in all her life rela- 
tions, and the thought of its being a duty to 
take her trials and troubles to God, to a mind 
like hers carried a conviction which might have 


CTJSTAKD PIE. 


119 


failed to gain a hold had the thought been less 
forcibly put. 

In the present case, while she was liberating 
the innocent Dixie there was an upward lifting 
of the soul for help, then vexation gave way to 
amusement, and, empty plate in hand, she went 
to lay the case before Aunt Hannah. 

That good old soul had dealt with mischiev° 
ous boys before. She at once suggested to 
Arrninta that these must not be allowed to 
come out ahead in the present race for fum 
There was still time for another pie before din- 
ner. She would make the crust, Lilian could 
beat the eggs, and they could cool it on ice 
while Arrninta prepared the rest of the meal. 

A blank look which indicated the seller 
sold, was on the faces of the two boys as they 
were coolly served with custard pie at the close 
of the meal, but no remarks escaped them. 

This surprise was great enough, but to Fred 
it was small compared to the one that “ Sister 
Min did not seem at all put out.” He had not 
as yet fathomed the secret of the force that was 
acting on Arrninta, but he would feel its power 
throughout his future life. 


CHAPTER XTV. 


CAUGHT* IN HIS OWN TEAP. 

“ Dare to do right; dare to be true.” 

“ He laughs best who laughs last.” 

rpHE Fourth of July was near at hand, and 
the boys were on the alert. It had long 
been a practice of the boys of the village near 
which Grove Farm was situated, to make the night 
previous to the* Fourth of July specially their 
own by way of practical jokes on the citizens 
or their possessions. 

Usually those jokes were harmless, being in- 
stigated by the spirit of fun rather than 
malice, but now and then the latter spirit 
gained the ascendant and then trouble was apt 
to result. 

Both Fred and Robert were favorites with the 
town boys. Usually no social gathering among 
the young people was considered quite complete 
without their presence. They were acknowl- 
edged fun-makers, and in this respect it was 
difficult to tell which took the precedence ; 
Robert with his keen, sparkling wit, or Fred 
with his sly, dry drollery. 

( 120 ) , 


CAUGHT IN HTS OWN TRAP. 


121 


Robert was by nature a leader. Not that he 
was either assuming or arbitrary. Both these 
characteristics were far from being marked in 
him, but he carried about with him, in his very 
presence that command which is inherent in 
some characters though gentleness and courtesy 
be dominant traits, and before which men bow 
instinctively without being able to give a rea- 
son why. 

With Fred it was quite different. Awe 
never asserted itself on account of his presence, 
and dignity waited special occasions before ven- 
turing to assume sway. His happy-go-lucky 
ways put others at their ease, and his very 
presence suggested the thought of some pleas- 
antry or other in store. Such was his kindness 
of heart that left to himself he was seldom in- 
clined to give pain to others, but he lacked that 
decision of character which is essential as a 
safeguard in the hour of temptation and evil. 

No, was a word which it was hard for him 
to speak, and this fact often led him into 
trouble. It was much easier to do as others 
did — to sail along with the tide instead of re- 
sisting the current and, perchance sailing alone 
to the port of safety. He was also very sensi- 
tive to ridicule, and that of itself is a weakness 
which often does its possessor much mischief. 
The element of fear did not seem to enter into 


122 


TENDING UPWARD. 


Robert’s nature. As a child he had defied the 
dark and no stories of bears and wolves had 
been held before his imagination as incentives 
to obedience or as terrorizers in case of a de- 
parture from the right way. 

He had been taught to judge by the stand- 
ard of right and wrong, and what might be said 
about this or that act was to him a secondary 
consideration. Still he was so kind and 
thoughtful for other people that he seldom gave 
offence though differing in opinion, or by stand- 
ing firm in adherence to principles which dif- 
fered from those by which they were controlled. 

For some reason Robert was not included in 
the company which had charge of proceedings 
on the night of July third. Whether this was 
because be was not invited, or on account of a 
declined invitation, only the boys themselves 
knew. Fred, however, was in all the secret 
conclaves, and held a high position as originator 
and general manager. 

But there was one part of the program ar- 
ranged for this occasion which Fred had no 
part in planning, and which made him sick at 
heart. Had he possessed Robert’s spirit, tact 
and principle, he would have suppressed this 
act in its incipient stage, but he disliked to op- 
pose what the others suggested, so he let the 
plan work on to completion though it violated 


CAUGHT IN HTS OWN TRAP. 


123 


his every sense of honor or manliness, to say 
nothing of the law of right. 

Granny Maxin’s too voluble tongue had 
wrought her mischief in prospect. She had 
angered the village boys by circulating reports 
concerning them which were better not med- 
dled with, and they resolved on vengeance. The 
present occasion seemed a suitable one, and 
fertile brains made quick work of a decision as 
to method. 

They would smoke her out and give her such 
a scare that she would be glad to promise si- 
lence for the future. This could easily be ac- 
complished by putting a bundle of straw in 
the top of the chimney, setting fire to the 
same and then putting a board over the flue. 
A word from Fred at the outset would have 
prevented this, but he feared that if he spoke 
that word he should be subject to ridicule. 
He had not the courage to face that fear, and 
so the plot went on. The program was com- 
pleted and the preliminaries arranged on the 
evening previous to the one when the various 
acts were to be carried out. 

Arminta had retired when Fred came in on 
that evening, but not being asleep she noticed 
that he did not go to bed for some time. Be- 
side a window in his room stood a chair which 
rocked with a peculiar creak, and long after he 


124 


TENDING UPWARD. 


came in she could hear the measured sway of 
the restless chair. She knew that something 
was on his mind and wondered what it could 
be. He usually came to her when any thing 
troubled him. What could be the reason that 
he was now bearing his burden alone? 

Long Fred sat by the open window appar- 
ently gazing at the stars, but the study of as- 
tronomy had nothing to do with his thoughts 
just then. He was thinking of the trick to be 
played on Granny Maxin. How mean and con- 
temptible it seemed to play such a trick on any 
woman, especially one who was old and alone 
in the world. How he wished he had opposed 
the plan at the outset, but it had gone so far 
now he did not see how he was going to help 
it. 

Then he thought of her kindness to him all 
his life long — of the little cakes and tarts which 
she used to bake for him and the numberless 
toys which her hard earnings had purchased for 
his amusement. He wondered how his mother 
would feel to know that he had a hand in such 
unkindness toward her old friend ; and at this 
thought he bowed his head on the window sill 
and wept. But the tears shed were not those 
of penitence. What the boys would say if 
he failed to act his part had more weight with 
him than the voice of conscience and his most 


CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TEAP. 


125 


tender memories. About midnight he v/ent to 
bed and after a time fell into a troubled sleep. 

From childhood he had been given to talking 
in his sleep when specially tired or nervouSo 
This night supplied the conditions which in- 
duced this form of over action of the brain, 
and, the door of his room being ajar, Arminta 
was startled out of a sound sleep by his cry of 
“ fire,” and it required only moderate attention 
on her part to gather sufficient hints on which 
to base a pretty correct idea of the whole plot. 
She was much surprised and shocked that Fred 
should have a hand in any thing of the kind, 
and greatly troubled to know just what to do. 

There was no more sleep for her that nighto 
Some way must be thought of to rescue Granny 
Maxin, and manifestly it had fallen to her to 
act in the case. It grieved her sorely that Fred 
should have withheld from her his confidence, 
and this made the matter hard to reach, but she 
could readily understand why this was sOo 
She knew that under existing circumstances it 
would not be wise to say anything to Fred on 
the subject. He was not in a mood to be con- 
trolled by her, and to lecture him would be to 
make matters worse. 

She might tell her father what she had heard, 
and he would interfere in the case. If this be- 
came necessary she would do it, but she would 


126 


TENDING TOWARD. 


try another plan first. She rose at an early 
hour and before leaving her room sent np an 
earnest petition to the throne of grace for wis- 
dom and guidance, together with a willingness 
to do the right thing. 

It was nothing unusual for her to step across 
the garden with a pail of milk or a basket of 
eggs for Aunt Hannah, and no one noted it 
specially on this particular morning. Neither 
was it noted that Robert walked back with her 
as far as the garden gate, and that so earnest a 
conversation was being carried on that they 
walked directly across the two onion beds, and 
interfered seriously with Aunt Hannah’s lettuce. 

Later in the day Robert took his gun and 
sauntered forth apparently in pursuit of game. 
The wonder was that he did not call for Fred 
as usual, but he had his own reasons for going 
alone. He i^eturned by way of Grove Farm, 
and while there managed to get an opportunity 
to say to Annin ta ; — “ It will be all right ! Don’t 
worry ! ” 

Night came, and the boys carried out their 
program amid a deal of laughter and a world of 
fun. When they reached the last act, Fred, us- 
ually foremost in the fun and jollity, became 
silent, and no sally of wit however keen could 
induce his usual laugh. Darkness covered the 
paleness of his face, but as they approached 


CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TKAP. 


127 


Granny Maxin’s cottage his knees fairly smote 
together, and he was so weak he could hardly 
walk. He was the one to put the straw in the 
chimney and set fire to the same. In order to 
do this he must get on the roof — a not difScult ^ 
task to perform as the house was very low and 
the roof one of those very old-fashioned ones 
which slant to within a few feet of the ground 
on one side. The roof was reached by mount- 
ing on a hogshead used as a cistern which stood 
directly in a line with the chimney, and near 
which an old lightning rod was located. Great 
caution must be observed or they would attract 
the attention of the inmate of the cottage, and 
then who could know what would be the result. 

The moon rose late that night and the plan 
was to finish all before she made her appear- 
ance, but, as often happens, more time expired 
than was counted on, and just as they reached 
Granny Maxin’s cottage the eastern sky began 
to be distinctly illuminated. A halt was or- 
dered and after hurried consultation all but 
three of the boys sought the concealment af- 
forded by a clump of lilac bushes which stood 
conveniently near, from which point they could 
watch proceedings and take in the fun without 
being observed. 

When his time came for mounting the roof 
with his bundle of straw and the board for 


128 


TENDING UPWARD. 


covering the flue, Fred hesitated, but a titter 
from the lilac bushes roused him and he pro- 
ceeded. Grasping the lightning rod with one 
hand he crawled along cautiously until he 
reached the chimney, then, balancing himself, 
he rose to proceed to business. 

He was little accustomed to climbing, and a 
house roof was not a location to his taste by 
daylight, and to be on one alone at night was of 
itself an experience not quite to his mind. But 
farther than all this went the thought of the 
unworthy act which he was about to perform. 
He was so excited that he was about to put the 
board instead of the straw into the chimney, 
when there was a staying of proceedings, and 
an entire change in the program. Noticing his 
mistake he hurriedly exchanged the board for a 
handful of straw, then straightening himself up 
bravely, he bent over the chimney, when, lo ! his 
hair fairly stood on end as a snowy head and 
a face black as cork could make it, popped out of 
the flue, while a sepulchral voice loud enough 
to be distinctly heard at the lilac bushes said — 
“ What yer doin’ here ? ” 

That was the capping of the climax. Fred, 
in his nervous state, did not need any thing 
more startling to send boy, board and straw 
rolling down the roof together as if on a wager 
to see which would first reach the cistern. And 


CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. 


129 


reach the cistern they did, with such a splash as 
to call all the boys to the rescue in spite of 
caution. 

Oh the shout that went up as the dripping 
Fred was hauled out of the cistern! It defied 
the bounds of caution and stayed not at the 
thought of wounding the sensitive spirit of the 
mortified victim of folly. 

Thus it is ever with sin. It leads its victims 
on in an evil way, painting its allurements in 
gorgeous colors, and throwing over them the 
roseate hues which almost make evil seem good 
and transform the deeds of darkness, if not 
actually into virtues, into so close a resemblance 
thereto as to make the doing seem subject only 
to impunity. But he who lowers his standard to 
the acceptance of this specious reasoning, finds 
at last that he has not only lost his own self- 
respect and the approval of conscience, but has 
become the derision of the very ones who led 
him astray. There is no sure footing in the 
doubtful ways of sin. 

Some one tells the story of a steamboat cap- 
tain who wished to obtain a pilot to take rafts 
down the Mississippi river. This want being 
known, one day a man presented himself as an 
applicant for the position. 

To the inquiry; — Do you know where the 


130 


TENDING UPWARD. 


snags and sand-bars in the river are ? ” the ap- 
plicant quietly returned answer ‘‘No.” 

Then, said the captain indignantly — “ Why 
do you seek this position ? ” to which the 
would-be pilot calmly replied : — “ I know where 
the snags and sand-bars are 

The man secured the position and the captain 
had no occasion to look further. 

So in the surging, eddyii^ life-stream. There 
is always a point where snags and sand-bars are 
not, and he only is safe, who, with God’s help 
keeps his life-bark in this clear channel. 
Granny Maxin never knew of the boy’s plot, 
or of its ludicrous termination. 

Arminta and Robert had not held secret 
council for nothing, and circumstances favored 
the development of their scheme. 

Aunt Hannah was sick on that afternoon, 
and as Robert sauntered out with his gun, he 
took occasion to call and ask Granny Maxin if 
she would be kind enough to go over and look 
after his grandmother that night, as he might 
be out late. Granny Maxin, who was about to 
start out on a round of calls, at once consented, 
and they left the house together. As they did 
so, Robert noticed that she left the key under 
the door mat. 

That evening at a late hour, Robert walked 
leisurely to Granny Maxin’s cottage, carrying 


CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TKAP, 


131 


in his hand a bundle. Raising the door mat he 
secured the kej^, with which he deliberately 
unlocked the door. Then, as deliberately he 
w^alked in and locked the door on the inside. 
Taking from his pocket a bunch of matches, he 
struck one after another until through their 
light he succeeded in finding a lamp, which he 
lighted. Then he opened the package, the 
contents of which consisted of a pair of over- 
alls, a blouse, a wig made of bleached flax, and 
a charred cork. 

Placing the lamp on a bracket which hung 
beside the mirror he proceeded to blacken his 
face with the cork until he laughed immoder- 
ately at his own appearance. Then he put on 
the flax wig, and again the mirror sent back the 
funny picture, to his great amusement. The 
blouse and overalls were for practical use, for 
he had business on hand, and when they were 
donned and his shoes exchanged for an old pair 
of list slippers his costume was complete. 

The chimney of Granny Maxin’s house was 
one of those large, old-fashioned ones which 
extended from the cellar to the roof, and opened 
into various rooms with spacious fire-places. 
As was not unusual in these chimneys, chimney 
swallows had taken up their abode there, and 
would fly in and out in such numbers and with 


132 


TENDING UPWARD. 


SO much noise as to seriously disturb the old 
lady. 

One day when she was calling at Aunt Han- 
nah’s she had spoken of this annoyance, and 
Robert volunteered to go up the chimney and 
remove the nests of the intruders, which would 
probably lessen the annoyance, if it did not 
wholly remove it. This he did, and while in 
the chimney, boy like he had, just for the fun 
of it, climbed to the top by means of bricks 
which projected on the inside. In doing this 
he had noticed what the other boys did not 
know, that where the chimney came in contact 
with the roof there was a hole which in case of 
a fire in the top of the chimney, would greatly 
endanger the building. 

The meanness and wickedness of the trick 
would have been a sufficient motive to him for 
the part he purposed to act. But this discovery 
was an additional incentive, both for the sake 
of Granny Maxin and the boys themselves. 

Then too, there was a desire to help Arminta. 
Her last words to him were : — “ O Robert ! if 
you can do anything to prevent this mischief, 
do it and he would have done much more 
than the present case required rather than dis- 
appoint her ill so earnest a wish. 

As soon as he had completed his toilet he 
took the lamp into tlie kitchen whose one win- 


CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. 


133 


dow could easily be so darkened that the light 
would not be visible from the outside, and 
where was the fireplace through which he was 
to make his ascent. Then he went into the 
darkened sitting room and sat down beside a 
partially open window to watch for the boys. 

He had not long to wait, and through the in- 
creasing moonlight he laughingly witnessed the 
whole performance of the stationing of a part 
of the company under the lilac bushes, and he 
could tell just who the three were that were 
delegated for the business in hand. He could 
also hear the suppressed titters and giggles, 
and he laughed so himself that it was only with 
difficulty he could climb to the top of the 
chimney. 

The rest is already known so far as the boys 
outside were concerned, and Robert considered 
that so much the better part of the story that 
he always concluded with an account of the 
hasty retreat which he witnessed from his lofty 
perch, and the wonderment which he heard ex- 
pressed afterward, as to how Granny Maxin 
ever got to the top of that chimney. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE BIETHDAY PAETY. 

“ Or humble friends scorn not one ; 

The daisy by the shadow that it casts, 

Protects the lingering dew-drop from the sun.’^ 

of Aunt Hannah’s stories ? Oh ! yes : ” 
^ and general acclamation showed that the 
desired entertainment of the hour had been 
proposed. 

It was the evening of Robert’s twenty-first 
birthday. The young people had decided that 
so important an event as — to use their own 
words— “Robert’s becoming a little man” should 
be marked by some special demonstration; and 
what was better than a surprise party ! They 
would carry their own refreshments so that 
Aunt Plannah need not be put to any trouble, 
and some of the girls volunteered to go next 
morning and help her restore her house to its 
accustomed order. 

Aunt Hannah’s consent to this was readily 
gained, and they proceeded to lay their plans. 
The guests were to assemble at the home of 
Fred and Arminta, and from there to take the 
( 134 ) 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


135 


path across the garden to Aunt Hannah’s. 
Each member of the party was to present him- 
self at the door alone, until the entire company 
representing the number of Robert’s years had 
gained entrance. Aunt Hannah would arrange 
that Robert should go to the door each time 
until the twenty-one trips had been made. The 
evening came and the fun began. It was a 
hard matter for the company to keep still 
enough to make the thing a success, especially 
as Fred was in one of his jolliest moods. Then, 
just as they reached the garden gate, one of the 
gentlemen, in performing an act of special gal- 
lantry in opening this gate for his admired 
partner, dropped her lunch basket which he 
was carrying in most gingerly style, and out 
went a chocolate cake and a dish of pickles into 
the dirt and darkness in a hopeless jumble. 
Controlling herself enough to make a present- 
able entrance Arminta first rapped at the door 
and was ushered in by Robert. Laying aside 
her hat as usual, she entered into conversation 
with Aunt Hannah, when Fred came in and 
joined the ladies, entering, with seeming inter- 
est into the discussion of the weather which 
was going on. 

The others followed, one after another, until 
Robert feigned such exhaustion as to make a 
cane necessaiy. The hour which followed was 


136 


TENDING UPWAED. 


one such as young people know how to fill up. 
Then refreshments added their share to the 
general entertainment. 

But here one feature was lacking. There 
was much calling for chocolate cake, which no 
one was able to sujDply, and when are pickles 
so good as when they are not to be had. Fred 
seized a lamp and started for the garden gate, 
but was stayed by the suggestion that as the 
cake was planted in the garden it might be for 
future benefit to let it raise its crop. Chocolate 
cakes were always good, and possibly some 
other member of the party might be fortunate 
enough to have a twenty-first birthday. 

After refreshments came the request for 
Aunt Hannah’s story. The old lady was in the 
kitchen washing dishes, but being ever ready 
to add to the pleasure of Robert’s guests, she 
at once took off her large apron which she hung 
carefully on its nail, then rolling down her 
sleeves and adjusting her glasses, she went to 
the sitting room, where the company eagerly 
awaited her. It was a pleasant sight — that old 
lady surrounded by such a group of eager, ex- 
pectant faces. Few of her years can so enter 
into the interests of young people as to make 
their society so desirable to them as did Aunt 
Hannah. Her heart seemed to have lost none 
of its youthful freshness. Passing years had 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY„ 


137 


but deepened and intensified its sympathies un* 
til they responded to a slight touch of need or 
pleasure. 

She was pleased by the attention shown her 
by the young people. Age likes to feel itself 
of practical use, instead of being set aside as a 
worn-out, useless thing. She had donned her 
best gown for the occasion. She thought it 
the duty of old people to make themselves as 
attractive as circumstances would permit, and 
she had never allowed herself to become care- 
less in the matter of dress. Her shimmering 
silk, of sober gray, was only worn on special 
occasions, but what more suitable occasion was 
demanded than the day when Robert attained 
his majority ? This dress was always kept in 
as near an approach to style as was consistent 
with the old Quakeress’ ideas of propriety. It 
had received an extra touch at the hands of 
the town dressmaker after the party was de- 
cided upon, for she did not want Robert to be 
ashamed of his grandmother on account of an 
old-fashioned costume. 

And surely he had no reason. No girl in the 
room looked more trim and dainty than Aunt 
Hannah with her gray silk and white ker- 
chief, which harmonized so sweetly with her 
benevolent face and snowy hair. Seated in her 
chair, the old lady looked round on the expect- 


138 


TENDING UPWARD. 


ant group and her placid smile deepened as she 
caught the inspiration which contact with young 
life imparts. 

What the story should be was the next thing 
to be decided. There was one about prairie 
wolves which the boys would enjoy, but the 
ladies might think it not quite to their taste. 
Robert being the hero of the occasion, it was 
agreed that he should decide the matter. After 
a moment’s thought he turned to Aunt Hannah 

with ‘‘ Gramma, how would the one about 

the prairie fire do ? The ladies would like 
that. They are supposed to be fond of dogs.” 

This settled the matter and Aunt Hannah 
began : — The prairie fire to which Robert 
refers, occurred when his father — my little 
Robbie — was about ten years of age. He was 
a good boy — my Robbie ” 

Not better than his son and namesake ? ” 
(This from Robert in a tone of concern.) 

Conceit ! ” This expression, in feminine 
tone, came from the further corner of the room, 
and roguish black eyes flashed back a response 
to Robert’s expression of mock indignation. 

Aunt Hannah’s only notice of the interrup- 
tion was a benignant smile which indicated 
mingled amusement and fondness, and she pro- 
ceeded : — 

He was thoughtful, too, beyond his years. 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


139 


I used to think that in this respect he learned 
lessons from True whom thee will remember 
was a dog which was sent me by my brother 
who lived in New York state. This dog was a 
year older than Robbie. He seemed almost 
human in his capabilities, and I never saw a 
dog who would learn things so easily or seem to 
understand so well what was said to bin. 

“ When Zekiel was in the field and wanted 
something from the house or barn which True 
could carry, he would summon him with a 
whistle, then, writing his directions, give him 
the paper and tell him to carry it to me, which 
he always did directly. Then I would get the 
desired article and he would take it to his 
master. 

I used also to send him to the town, a mile 
away, on errands, and I never knew him to lose 
any thing which was committed to his care. In 
order that he might know just what I wished 
him to do I took him to town with me at differ- 
ent times, on each occasion giving him a new 
basket in a different shop, feeling confident 
that he would remember, whenever I gave him 
a basket at what shop he received it, and then 
take it to that shop for supplies ; and precisely 
that he did. 

“ He was always delighted to go with the 
baskets, for the shop boys made much of him. 


140 


TENDING UPWARD. 


giving him candy, of which he was very fond, 
and plenty of other choice bits to eat. I always 
put a paper in the basket on which was written 
'a list of the things I wanted, and also some sil- 
ver money. In time he became so accustomed 
to this practice that he would not start with his 
basket unless these conditions were fulfilled. 

“ I remember that on one occasion as I had no 
silver money I enclosed the list of articles in 
an envelope and also put in some paper money. 
Placing the envelope in the basket which was to 
go to the meat market I handed it to him as 
usual. He took the basket, set it down on the 
floor, looked into it and then stood coolly eye- 
ing me. I knew what the trouble was, but 
thought I could manage the case. 

It was no use. Take the basket he would 
not until I had sent him to Zekiel with a note 
which brought me the required silver, when he 
trudged off right merrily and returned as usual. 
At first the town boys thought to have some 
fun at his expense by getting his basket away 
from him, but he soon put a stop to that. He 
growled and showed his teeth in a way that 
meant most decidely, ‘ hands off.’ 

“ To most of the boys this was sufficient, but 
one, more daring than the rest ventured further, 
seizing the basket by the handle and grabbing 
the package which it contained. That was too 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


141 


much for even the good natured True to bear. 
Dropping the basket, he seized the boy in such 
a business-like way as to make him scream for 
help and to be more than glad when True con- 
sidered the account settled. 

“ Robbie seldom left the house without True. 
I thought that when he commenced going to 
school I should have to shut the dog up, but 
concluded to see how it would work to let 
things take their course. The first day both 
boy and dog were absent during school hours 
and came home together — True staying around 
the school house while Robbie was inside. 

The next day it was the same, but after a 
time True would see Robbie to the school 
house in the morning and then come home. It 
seemed strange that a dog should associate the 
two ideas, but near the school house stood a 
manufacturing establishment where a steam 
whistle sounded for change of hands at half 
past three. This was just about the time when 
Robbie was excused from school. 

‘‘ I noticed that as this time drew near. True 
would take his position on a horseblock which 
commanded a view of the road in the direction 
of the school house for some distance. There 
he would lie with his head between his paws, 
until the whistle sounded, when he would start 
off at full speed and return with Robbie. 


142 


TENDING UPWAED. 


“ If Robbie left hat or slate out of doors, True 
was pretty sure to find and bring them in, and 
the boy learned many lessons in care-taking 
from his faithful friend. 

“ Poor True ! I can hardly keep the tears 
back now, as I tell thee how he fell a victim to 
his faithfulness at last. Probably thee knows 
little of prairie fires, but to those who do know 
them they are greatly to be dreaded. In a new 
country where the wild grass grows rank and 
high and is not cut, there is large opportunity 
for fire all through the summer and fall if the 
weather is dry, and the cultivated farms are in 
special danger so long as the grass stands un- 
cut. Then, too, the fire gets into the ground 
and the dry turf will burn like tinder. 

“ If there happens to be woodland in the track 
which the flames wish to pursue they pass over 
it as relentlessly as though they were not de- 
spoiling Nature’s work of years. 

“I have seen many a prairie grove stand one 
day bright and beautiful in its greenness, and 
the next, leafless branches and blackened trunks 
told their tale of heartless devastation. 

“ ’ Tis a grand sight — the flames sweeping 
along through the grass, swaying in the wind ; 
dying down here and starting up afresh there, 
and the clouds of smoke going back over the 
prairie in graceful undulations, rolling and 


THE BIETHDAY PARTY. 


143 


plunging like mad if the wind be high, or set- 
tling down as if to cover the desolate track of 
the flames if the wdnd be low. 

‘‘A night forest fire baffles description. I can- 
not give thee a good idea of its wonderful gran- 
deur, so I leave it to thine imaginings. But 
the settlers did not stop to tliink much of sen- 
timent when a fire was announced. It meant 
too much to them. Each was anxious to save 
his home and his few worldly possessions. 

Well all knew that, a fire once started, there 
was no knowing where it would end, or what 
families might become homeless through its 
power. Wherever one was started all the 
neighborhood, men, women and children were 
expected to turn out and fight it until danger 
was past. Shovels, hoes, pails of water — any- 
thing that would help to stay the flames was in 
demand. The most effective weapons used by 
the women were wet mops. I have seen many 
a fire effectually baffled by these weapons alone. 

“In time, a railroad was built through our 
farm, running within a few rods of the house. 
This greatly increased our danger and in dry 
weather not a train passed that did not give us 
anxiety, lest its sparks prove fire lighters. At 
such times we seldom left the premises alone, 
and day after day I have gone out with my 
mop and bucket of water and put out a fire 


144 


TENDING UPWARD. 


which would have swept all before it had it 
been allowed to proceed. 

‘‘ I was thinking only yesterday about these 
fires and how like they were to the workings of 
sin in our hearts. The sparks of temptation are 
always flying about us ready to fall at any un- 
guarded point and kindle flames which work 
devastation and ruin to heart and character. 
Watchfulness and resistance will counteract 
these forces at the outset, but once let them 
gain a hold, and life and character are well rep- 
resented by the blackened, fire-swept prairie. 

But to return to my story : — One afternoon 
it was necessary for Zekiel and I to go to the 
village to attend to some business. We in- 
tended to get a neighbor to come and stay at 
the house and watch for fires as there were al- 
ways several trains passing at that time of day. 
The neighbor which we expected was sick that 
day. It was Saturday, Robbie was at home and 
he offered to stay and watch, and save the 
trouble of going for some one else. I demurred, 
but Zekiel thought it would be safe as Rob- 
bie had seen so much of that sort of thing that 
he knew just what to do in case a fire was 
started, and before we went he put some buck- 
ets of water where the child could get them 
without going to the well. 

I felt uneasy, but as it seemed to be the thing 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


145 


to do, went on, leaving Robbie and True out 
near the railroad hunting for gophers while 
they waited for business in their line. We 
thought to hurry through with business and get 
home in a short time, but a man whom we were 
to have met at two o’clock did not arrive until 
four, then, as is not unusual, the business took 
more time than we expected, and it was nearly 
night when we started for home. 

“ As we drew near our place we heard True 
barking furiously, and on passing a hedge which 
hid our house from view we saw a column of 
smoke rising near the railroad and bearing di- 
rectly toward the buildings. Before we could 
reach the spot flames were leaping in wild an- 
tics in obedience to the rising wind. 

“Seizing the buckets of water we flew to the 
fire and for an hour or more fought as for dear 
life. We dared not pause for a minute for the 
flames were blowing directly toward our house 
and barn, and the wind seemed to grow stronger 
every instant. 

“But where was Robbie? We were almost 
wild with anxiety. We called and called but 
there was no response. 

“ True’s bark changed into a howl which we 
well knew meant that all was not well with 
him, but we dared not leave our post for a 
minute to see what the matter might be. His 


146 


TENDING DPWAED. 


voice grew fainter and fainter until it ceased 
altogether. Several neighbors now came to the 
rescue and soon the flames were so subdued 
that we could stop to take breath. To my 
agonized inquiry for Robbie, one of the neigh- 
bors replied that he had seen him go for the 
cows as usual, and just then we saw Spot and 
Brindle coming leisurely along the road with 
their measured tread, and close behind them 
was Robbie. 

“ He had waited until the last regular train 
passed before leaving his post as watcher. The 
fire was caused by sparks from the engine at- 
tached to a pay -car which passed after regular 
hours. 

“ But where was True ? Robbie said he started 
with him after the cows but turned back and al- 
though he called him he would not come, so he 
went on alone. When prairie fires were feared 
it was often the case that a strip of land was 
plowed where the fire would be likely to run, 
in which case, unless the wind was strong 
enough to carry the flames or sparks across the 
furrows, the upturned earth would stay the 
progress of the fire and lessen the danger. 

“ With this in mind Zekiel had that forenoon 
commenced turning up furrows between the 
railroad and our house. Thinking to resume 
work after we returned from town, he left his 


THE BIRTHDAY PARTY. 


147 


coat lying on his plow. True was so accus- 
tomed to being set to watch things that he 
often took it upon himself to watch without 
being directly commanded to do so. 

“ This was true in the present case. When he 
and Robbie went out to watch for fire he had dis- 
covered the coat and at once considered it his 
duty to answer for its safe keeping. The gopher 
that ventured near that coat stood a poor chance 
for life and it was safer for man or beast to 
leave it alone. True was also greatly interested 
in fires, and was always on hand and apparently 
as interested as the men whenever his master 
was called to help subdue the flames. 

“ In the present case we never knew whether 
he left Robbie to go back and watch the coat, 
or whether his dog instinct revealed to him 
through scent the fact of the fire. Whichever 
way it was, the next morning when Zekiel went 
out to continue his plowing he found poor 
True lying dead on the coat which he had 
dragged half way to the house. The way in 
which the ground was burned over showed that 
he was surrounded by the fire. The flames and 
smoke had evidently intercepted him and cost 
him his life ere he fulfilled his self-imposed 
mission. 

“ Our sorrow at parting with him I will pass 
over. With it was mingled so much of thanks- 


148 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


giving for Robbie’s and our own safety and the 
preservation of our home, that we could not re- 
pine at this minor loss. True was buried un- 
der a branching oak tree, near the spot where 
he died. Robbie marked his grave — at first with 
a planed board on which was carved in childish 
hand simply the word True, but in after years 
this was replaced by a more substantial slab 
which bore the added inscription : — ‘ He was 
true in nature as in name.’ ” 

As Aunt Hannah proceeded with her narra- 
tive, interest became more and more intense. 
She herself almost forgot present surroundings 
as she re-lived those earlier days so fraught 
with life’s most intense living to her. It was a 
vivid picture which she drew and her listeners 
did not require remarkable imaginations to take 
in the scene in a way to receive therefrom a 
forcible impression. The fate of poor True was 
bemoaned to the narrator’s heart’s content, and 
gratification was expressed that his grave was 
marked in a manner so appropriate. 

As the company broke up, among the many 
expressions of appreciation of the evening’s 
pleasure, none were more hearty or more kindly 
bestowed than those which fell to Aunt Han- 
nah, and Robert gave her special pleasure as he 
bade her good night, by telling her that she had 
helped to make the evening one of the pleasant- 
est he had ever known. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE SEASOHABLB WORD. 

“He drew his bow at a venture. 

Could he aim far and true ? 

And would the twang of the bow-string 
Be what he’d ever rue ? 

A soul thought formed the arrow, 

Fashioned with fire and skill, 

Set firm with a steady purpose, 

Pointed with patient will. 

Swift was the flight of the arrow, 

Straight to its unknown goal : 

The wound was deep, and yet from it 
Came life to a heart and soul.” 

Hannah Coddington. 

rpHE close of Robert’s vacation was a sad 
ending of a happy time to several individ- 
uals, though each sought to conceal this fact 
that it might not be apparent to others. 

Aunt Hannah, in her increasing age and fee- 
bleness, longed more and more for the stay and 
comfort of his manly strength, gentle sympathy 
and tender thoughtfulness. To her it had come 
to seem almost like closing the coffin lid anew 
to bid him good-bye for so long an absence— 

( 149 ) ; 


150 


TENDING UPWAED. 


life’s interests diminish so to the aged and they 
live so largely in the immediate friends that 
remain or the numerous train with which they 
have walked life’s pathway. 

The house was so lonely without his fun-lov- 
ing, mirth-producing presence. She went from 
room to room restlessly, picking up the book 
from which he had last read to her and laying 
it away with tear-dimmed eyes, putting his 
large sun-hat in the closet for safe keeping un- 
til next summer, and consigning to the washing 
the blouse and overalls which had hung in the 
wood-house since the third of July escapade at 
Granny Maxin’s cottage. 

In spite of her sadness, a smile rippled over 
her face at sight of the soot and ashes with 
which these garments were covered, and it did 
her good even then to recall the account given 
her by Robert of that eventful evening. 

It seemed a little less sad to her after this 
diversion of her thoughts, and the vacant seat 
at the table was hallowed by pleasant rather 
than sombre memories. 

She reflected that Fred and Arminta were 
left to her, and next to Robert, they were her 
heart’s delight. The former had promised that 
she should not want for any service which he 
could render, and the latter was not lacking in 
thoughtful attentions. 


THE SEASONABLE WORD. 


151 


Fred was, according to Granny Maxin’s way 
of putting it, “ as uneasy as a fish out of 
water,” from the hour that he saw the train bear 
Robert away. 

He teased his sisters more mercilessly than 
ever, and only Dixie’s good nature prevented a 
development in him of the butting propensity 
common to sheep kind as a means of defense 
when annoyed. What troubled Arminta most 
was that he was now scarcely willing to spend 
an evening at home, and if there was no enter- 
tainment in the village, he would be oft with 
the boys, nobody knew where, which practice 
she felt was not for his interest. It was not 
strange that Arminta should miss Robert. 
More and more they were growing to under- 
stand and appreciate each other. Each seemed 
to supply what the other lacked. 

Robert’s keen, piercing wit was just the 
thing to rouse Arminta out of her slow and 
somewhat sombre absorption of thought. It 
made her whet her weapons for defense, and 
thus stimulated her to quicker, keener efforts 
of mind. Gentleness like his in mankind, made 
her ashamed of her petulance and her disposi- 
tion toward censoriousness, and his open frank- 
ness acted as a counter current to her cold and 
stately reserve. He on his part admired her 
stately bearing, honored her superior judgment 


152 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


and reverenced her Christian character and firm 
adherence to principle. His was the deeper in- 
tellect, the greater tact, and quicker insight — 
hers the firmer will power and greater depth 
of soul. 

She missed him in many ways. They had 
read and studied together and compared notes 
in the fields of art, science and literature. He 
led her out into a wider range of thought and 
taught her a better knowledge of men, but she 
became the leader in moral reasoning and in 
the mysteries of intellectual science. 

His was the happier religious nature. Where 
she swayed and vibrated amid mysteries be- 
yond the power of finite mind to compass, and, 
calling reason to her aid, sought to know the 
unknowable, thinking and pondering on in the 
mazy labyrinths of whys and wherefores ; he, 
with child-like faith, committed unto God the 
mysteries which were beyond human ken, and 
went forth to the living out of holy principles 
and the uplifting of humanity. He seemed as 
a book that could be read with scarcely a peep 
between the covers, while her inner life was so 
sealed and barred as to exclude even the glance 
of close friendship from its deep recesses. 

Robert, more than any one else, she had ad- 
mitted into this inner sanctuary — this sealed 
chamber — not so much because he sought en- 


THE SEASONABLE WORD. 


153 


trance as through that spontaneous action 
which does not stop to question how or why. 
He always seemed to understand her without 
effort, and to respond in that undemonstrative 
way which is so pleasing to self contained 
natures. 

Most of all, Arminta missed him in connec- 
tion with Fred. He was in the transition stage 
between boyhood and manhood, when the 
nature drinks in new influences and expands 
with a sense of immeasurable strength. 

He had bidden adieu to the age of hoop and 
ball. The shifting, eddying life-current had 
already borne him past childhood into youth, 
and now the widening, deepening channel with 
its larger scope, gave promise of manhood, 
though as yet that stage seemed distant and 
hardly in keeping with his present state. 

April’s showers and fitful sunshine yet held 
sway, and were loth to bid adieu to a nature so 
congenial to their entertainment. 

But manhood was surely dawning. Already 
new forces were developing into activity, and 
new aspirations beginning to quicken the soul. 
It was like the dawning of spring in nature. 
Good and bad forces were alike quickened. 
The springing to leaf of the rose bush was 
simultaneous with that of the brier and the net- 
tle, and the hawk and the crow are as fond of 


154 


TENDiNC^ UPWABD. 


balancing the wing on the genial spring air as 
are the robin and the thrush. 

He was in that stage of ferment through 
which all natures must pass ere they reach full 
development, and as is not unusual in such 
cases, he had begun to show a scorn of 
authority and a self-assertion which seemed 
foreign to his nature. 

It had always been easy for Arminta to con- 
trol him, but now he sometimes went contrary 
to her known wish, and was petulant if his 
father questioned with regard to any of his 
doings. 

When with him Robert controlled him more 
easily than any one else. To him he spoke 
freely of things concerning which he did not 
wish to speak to Arminta. 

Had Robert been injudicious at this time he 
might have done much mischief by encouraging 
this withholding of confidence from his sistero 
But he did nothing of the sort. He had seen 
more of the world than either Fred or Arminta, 
and knew more of the danger that lay in the 
path of a boy of Fred’s temperament. He knew 
that next to trust in God, there is no stronger 
safeguard for a boy than to give full confidence 
to a true mother or sister and be guided by 
their counsel. 

Without making his object apparent, he often 


THE SEASONABLE WOBD. 


155 


talked with Fred of the desirability of a sister’s 
companionship, and spoke highly of Arminta 
as worthy of trust and confidence. 

To Robert also, the close of vacation had its 
sad features. He was one of those natures to 
whom feminine companionship is so essential. 
With Fred, if only he had company, it mat- 
tered little whether it were man, woman, or 
child. 

Robert could make himself agreeable to all, 
but if left to his choice a bevy of girls proved a 
sufficient magnet to draw him from almost any 
society within the limits of their charmed circle. 

He had for years mourned the death of a twin 
sister, and his mother’s loss he considered ir- 
reparable. Therefore it was not strange that as 
the years rolled by, Arminta came to fill the 
place of the lost sister, while his grandmother 
stood more and more in the position of mother 
and adviser. 

On the last evening of the vacation to which 
we have referred, he and Arminta had a long 
talk, in which each spoke freely of life-hopes 
and purposes. 

In the inner life, Arminta has grown much 
since we first met her ; — grown up out of self 
into that broader, truer life which lies beyond 
self-seeking, in the higher realms of intellectual 
and heart culture. She was still very imper- 


156 


TENDING UPWARD. 


feet, full of mistakes and sins of omission and 
.commission, but fixing her eye upon the goal 
she pressed toward the mark — The prize of 
the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” 

We read that the tapestry weavers do their 
work on the wrong side of the article being 
woven, working in the midst of the confusion 
and tangle of thrums and ends. The beautiful 
figures being wrought are hidden from view at 
the time, but none the less they are. being 
formed out of the seemingly insignificant 
threads, added one by one with consummate 
patience and skill. 

So of the tapestry of Arminta’s life. She was 
in the midst of the tangle of thrums and ends — 
passing the ordeal of the combining of warp 
and woof — the slow process of producing the 
great whole by the adding of thread by thread. 
She saw not the great design, and knew not 
the conditions required for its practical tracing, 
but the designer had no lack of wisdom in the 
plan or of skill in its carrying out. 

By and by, even she herself would see that 
the end attained was worth the attaining, and 
the world would see the right side of the tapestry 
portrayed in her character and life. 

Robert noted her growth of character, and 
to him it served as an impetus toward a higher 
life. A remark of hers dropped casually during 


THE SEASONABLE WORD. 


157 


the conversation referred to, followed him as 
he returned to his studies, retaining its hold 
upon him with tenacious grasp. 

Not that he wished it to do so : he would 
much have preferred that it had remained un- 
said, or that its memory might be set aside. 
But more and more, not only the words forced 
themselves upon him, but also the earnestness 
with which they were spoken, and his thoughts 
were disturbed day and night. 

For years it had been his purpose to be- 
come a lawyer. When a boy he had lived 
near a court-house, and it had been his de- 
light to visit the court room during court ses- 
sions and hear the lawyers sum up cases. 

His boyish enthusiasm was kindled and his in- 
terest awakened in a way to take a strong hold 
upon his life. His keen perceptions were stimu- 
lated and his reasoning faculties given a strong 
impetus. So frequent was his attendance at 
these sessions and so marked his interest that 
the lawyers began to note the presence of the 
black-eyed, quick-witted boy, and he received 
much attention from them. 

He was always ready with a quick retort to 
any sally of wit which they might wish to ad- 
dress to him, and they liked to say things 
just for the fun of seeing his black eyes flash, 
and hearing his ready response. To his mind 


158 


TENDING UPWAED, 


these lawyers were great men, and the ideals 
which stood as his life models were largely 
formed by combining the graces, virtues and in- 
tellect — real or imaginary — of these his chosen 
heroes. 

He pleaded many a case by himself, but his 
delight was to get a company of boys together 
and carry on a lawsuit. Then he always man- 
aged to hold the position of a prominent lawyer 
and shone forth brilliantly as he questioned, 
cross-questioned, argued and pleaded, and in the 
eyes of his companions he covered himself with 
glory as he retired from the contest. As he 
grew older the interest of childhood merged into 
youthful purpose and his life centred toward 
the law as a focal point. 

Arminta knew this and had entered into his 
plans in a manner which left him nothing to 
desire by way of sympathy or interest. She 
felt a pardonable pride in his brilliant intellect 
and was confident that he would distinguish 
himself in any life-work to which he gave the 
full force of his intellectual and moral nature. 
But deep down in her heart, almost unrecog- 
nized and wholly unspoken, was a secret wish 
that the gospel ministry would become his 
chosen profession. 

He was one of those individuals who, seem- 
ingly without effort on their part, have such 


THE SEASONABLE WOED. 


159 


power over others, combined with his strength 
of Christian character, vigorous intellect and 
unselfish thoughtfulness for others, that would 
specially fit him for usefulness as a winner of 
souls and a spiritual guide. 

But nothing of this had she a thought of 
uttering. She would not if she could turn 
Robert from his chosen course. Upright Chris- 
tian men were needed in the court room as well 
as in the sacred desk, and to do heaven-ap- 
pointed work, was as true service in one case 
as in the other. 

These were the thoughts that were running 
through her mind as Robert talked of his life 
plans and prospects. As soon as he left college 
he would study law with a friend of his father’s, 
and he longed for the time to come when he 
could enter upon his professional career. 

They were sitting on the veranda as this 
conversation was being carried on. 

Robert was now chief speaker, and he waxed 
enthusiastic as he dwelt upon his future hopes 
and prospects. 

The lawyer with whom he was to study stood 
high in his profession, and being a friend of his 
father’s would take special pains that every op- 
portunity was afl^orded him to make himself 
proficient in legal lore. Then it would be an 
easy matter to step from the office of one so 


160 


TENDING UPWAED. 


renowned into the arena wdiere he would dis- 
tinguish himself by his judicious adjustment of 
vexed questions, and a general display of pro- 
fessional skill in the various questions which 
were sure to demand his attention. 

Arminta listened attentively and with inter- 
est, but Robert could see that some other 
thought than the one being discussed was on 
her mind. 

He understood a peculiar way which she had 
when intensely interested in some subject which 
was occupying her mind, of listening and think- 
ing at the same time, and he knew that if he 
paused and waited he would be likely to get the 
benefit of the thought. 

This he wished to do, for Arminta’s views on 
most subjects had great weight with him. He 
had never before spoken to her so fully of his 
life plans, and he wished to know her opinion 
of them, but hesitated to ask directly. 

It was a delightful evening. The day had 
been hot and sultry, but night banished all 
thought of discomfort with its breath of re- 
freshing coolness. 

The full moon cast lengthened shadows across 
the lawn, and its light shimmered through the 
lattice as the breeze stirred the leaves of the 
vine by which it was covered. 

Arminta watched the shadows as Robert 


THE SEASONABLE WOKD. 


161 


talked on, kiit they were not uppermost in her 
thoughts. 

Robert waited her time for speaking and the 
current of his thoughts was changed, as with an 
abruptness which sometimes marked intensity 
on her part she said : — “ Robert, do you remem- 
ber the time when Dixie wandered away and 
fell into the ravine and you went with Fred to 
look him up ? 

“ Fred told me about it at the time. He 
said — ‘ There was no way to get to Dixie, and 
the only chance to save him was to induce him 
to come up out of the ravine.’ 

“‘I called and called, but it was of no use. 
Dixie bleated pitifully and ran back and forth 
in his prison, becoming all the time more scared 
and uncomfortable. 

“ ‘ I got discouraged and thought we’d have 
to leave him to his fate, but Robert said : — “ Let 
me try him.” Then he called, — not half so 
loudly as I did, nor so long, but Dixie came to 
.him. Then he petted and talked to him 
gently, and, if you’ll believe it, that lambkin 
followed him home without a bit of trouble. 

“ ‘ Why, I should have needed the clothes line 
and a horse whip to have accomplished a like 
result, and I haven’t a doubt that Dixie pre- 
ferred Robert’s method.’ 

Amused as I was at Fred’s account of the 


162 


TENDING UPWAED. 


matter, I had other thoughts in connection with 
it, and those thoughts come back to me to- 
night. Shall I tell you what they were ? ” 
'‘‘Yes, I should be more than glad to know 
them,” was Robert’s response, and the speaker 
continued: — “I thought how well calculated 
you were to become a leader of men — winning 
them up out of the dangerous places of sin and 
temptation, and leading them along in the path 
of right and peace.” 

Little more was said, and the next morning 
Robert returned to college. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


GEANNY MAXIN’s SPEECH. 

And often I am grieving, 

And longing all in vain, 

For a blessed opportunity 
That will not come again. 

Adda Nicholas, 

U PON a wall of the Temple of Delphi was 
this motto : — “ Know thine opportunity.’’ 
It seems strange to think of this suggestive 
phrase, so filled with forceful meaning to the 
Christian faith, as adorning the wall of a 
heathen temple. 

Did the devotee who consulted the famed or- 
acle, supposed to be enshrined within the sacred 
walls, add this voice to that of the responding 
god, and go forth quickened to his work as 
does he of the Christian faith who feels its liv- 
ing power ? 

Shakespeare’s wonderful knowledge of char- 
acter is not less forcibly portrayed in those oft 
quoted words ; — 

“ There is a tide in the a^Tairs of men, 

Which tahen at its flood, leads on to fortune: 
Omitted, all the current of their life, 

Is bovipd in shallows and in miseries.” 

^ 163 ) 


164 


TENDING UPWARD. 


Did you never set out for a walk in a certain 
direction and, meeting a friend, so change your 
course as to come in from a direction opposite 
to the one intended, or have you never spoken 
a word which acted as a pivot on which the ac- 
tion of your friend turned? “’Tis a solemn 
thing, this living, since no man ‘ liveth to him- 
self/ ’’ 

Each life is a centre around which other lives 
revolve. The fibers of one life are so inter- 
twined with those of another that heart-beats 
awaken answering heart-throbs and soul an- 
swers to soul with instinctive response. 

He who would lead men adds to his power in 
proportion as he learns the silent forces which 
move the soul and adapts these to their proper 
time. 

‘‘ A word spoken in due season, how good is 
it : ” is an inspired suggestion, and who so 
humble but has it in his power to speak a 
timely word. 

Even poor ignorant Granny Maxin gives 
force to this truth in her humble way. Coarse 
and untaught though she is, she places in the 
scale the deciding weight which turned a life- 
course into a channel where it became rich in 
itself and fraught with blessing to others. 

As Fred grew older he revolved more and 
iPQre seriously the question of going to col- 


GEANNY MAXIN’S SPEECH. 


165 


lege. Really this was not to his mind. He 
disliked the thought of the confinement of col- 
lege life. Four years seemed to him an almost 
interminable time in which to be separated 
from the home life and pour over books. He 
loved freedom, and since the death of his 
mother, had known little of rigid restraint of 
any sort, and, as he expressed it, to be shut up 
under college tutors and governors, would be 
to him what it would be to Dixie to shut him up 
in the woodshed and let him see through the 
open window other lambs skipping at pleasure 
in the grassy fields. 

His father, knowing the state of his mind, 
had offered him his choice, between a college 
course, or life on the farm up to the close of 
the time required for this course, and, in case he 
chose the latter, at the end of the specified time 
he was to have the money required for the edu- 
cation as his stock in trade, wherewith to com- 
mence business for himself. 

Aunt Hannah warned both Arminta and 
Robert against saying too much to him on the 
subject. She noticed in him an increased 
thoughtfulness and knew that this was a ques- 
tion which he must settle for himself in order 
to obtain best results. She saw that it was do- 
ing him good to do his own thinking, and she 
knew that he would make a long stride toward 


166 


TENDING UPWARD, 


manhood in working out the deliberate choice 
which lay before him. 

So Fred was left to himself to think and 
think again. 

Robert brought forth no more arguments in 
favor of college life, and Arminta refrained 
from even the accustomed joke concerning the 
time when he would become a little man ” and 
speak his piece like a major, in the form of a 
college valedictory. 

To Fred this letting alone was most grateful. 
In general he hated serious thinking and had 
been accustomed to depending upon others for 
decisions in vexed questions ; but now he had 
come to feel that he must act for himself, and 
already this consciousness was beginning to take 
on its accompanying weight of dignity. 

As is often the case, disturbance of mind was 
measured by outward gaiety and seeming indif- 
ference to all disturbing forces. He whistled 
louder than ever, became more merciless in his 
spirit of teasing with his sisters, and Dixie 
sought safe retreat whenever his presence made 
it desirable. 

But none the less he questioned and pon- 
dered. Following the natural tendency to 
harmonize duty and inclination he dwelt much 
upon the alternative offered if he declined a 
college course ; though as to what business he 


GRANNY MAXIN’S SPEECH. 167 

would follow he had no definite idea. He 
would at least rid himself of the tedium of col- 
lege rules and regulations, and the future did 
not greatly disturb one of his easy tempera- 
ment. 

But reason as he would, there were times 
when he could not get away from the thought 
that his mother had wished a higher education 
for him, her only son. He remembered that 
when he used to urge her to let him stay away 
from school without a good excuse, she always 
not only firmly refused, but set before him the 
desirability of improving all opportunities af- 
forded for mental improvement, that thereby he 
might be better fitted for a useful manhood. 

He also knew of her definitely expressed 
wish that he should take a college course. 

Arminta was no less thoughtful or anxious 
than he. Their lives were so closely inter- 
twined that what touched him reached her 
also ; for she, the elder, and the more natural 
care-taker, had, since the death of their mother, 
stood as his guide and burden-bearer to a large 
degree. 

But, heeding Aunt Hannah’s counsel, she said 
nothing, feeling sure that when he had for him- 
self solved the problem, he would come to her 
for sympathy and counsel for his future need, 
and so the days passed on. 


168 


TENDING UPWARD. 


One morning as Fred was starting for the 
village Arminta asked if he would stop at 
Granny Maxin’s and ask her to come and help 
her the next day. 

Fred readily undertook the commission and 
set out, whistling as usual, but after a little the 
whistling ceased and his face took on a grave 
and thoughtful look quite foreign to its ordi- 
nary expression. 

For the first time in his life he shrank from 
meeting Granny Maxin. Her too-voluble 
tongue had never disturbed him before, but 
now he shrank from the thought that she would 
doubtless have something to say concerning the 
subject which was on his mind, and he was not 
in a mood to listen to her obtrusively offered 
advice. 

He wished Arminta had not sent the message, 
and thought of a scheme for avoiding its deliv- 
ery. Then he became ashamed of himself on 
account of the childish thought and walked 
bravely toward the cottage. How, nobody 
could tell, but in some way Granny Maxin had 
become possessed of Fred’s secret, and her 
heart was troubled, lest her favorite should 
make a wrong decision. 

Ignorant as she was, she greatly valued an 
education, and her ambitious dreams for Fred 
had always looked, if not toward the Presiden- 


GRANNY MAXIN’S SPEECH. 


169 


tial chair, at least at one placed high among 
the learned of the land. She also knew his 
mother’s wish concerning the matter. So 
deeply had she taken the matter to heart as for 
once to seal her lips, even toward her most in- 
timate friends when they called for their cus- 
tomary dish of gossip. 

As soon as he came in sight, Fred noticed 
that she was in her garden, which bordered the 
roadside and in which she took great pride. 
Her lettuce always came first to the village 
market, and nobody in that region expected to 
have green peas and early potatoes sooner than 
Granny Maxin. Fred could have told who 
helped to arrange her hotbeds, do the heavy 
spading, and arrange the vine trellises ; but he 
never seemed to consider it necessary to do so, 
and, in fact it was not, for from babyhood 
Granny Maxin had sung his praises so thor- 
oughly as to leave little occasion for individual 
attempts in that direction. On the morning in 
question the exchange of “good mornings,” 
and the delivery of the message w^as followed 
by a request on the part of Granny Maxin that 
Fred would come and look at her Delaware 
grapevine. 

This vine was one which she specially cher- 
ished, not so much on account of the rare va- 
riety as because it was a present from Fred, 


170 


TENDING UPWARD. 


brought to her when she was laid aside by sick- 
ness, and set out and tended by him until she 
was well enough to take care of it herself. 

The first cluster of fruit which it bore she 
would allow no hands but her own to touch un- 
til, when she was sure that it was fully ripe, she 
had placed it in a little fancy basket bought for 
that special purpose and taken it to Mr. Sher- 
man’s for Fred’s own eating ; but at Fred’s 
suggestion she finally decided to give the treas- 
ure to Aunt Hannah who was sick with fever, 
and to whom the cooling fruit was specially 
pleasing. 

This vine had so flourished that in spite of 
repeated prunings it had overtopped its origi- 
nal trellis. An added trellis had been provided, 
but to this the clasping tendrils did not seem 
to take kindly. The wind had thrown the 
vine back upon itself much to the detriment of 
the half-formed fruit, lying underneath the un- 
due supply of foliage. Many clusters had be- 
come mildewed and shrivelled and would never 
reach maturity. 

Fred at once set to work to put the vine to 
rights, and as he picked off the spoiled clusters 
he remarked that they were spoiled because 
that viue was too lazy to climb up the new trel- 
lis. Now, moralizing was not Granny Maxin’s 
habit ; and the idea of her drawing a moral les- 


GRANNY MAXIN’S SPEECH. 


171 


son which would act as a motive power for 
good from anything so simple as a grapevine, 
would have astonished no one more than her- 
self, but so it was. 

When she heard Fred’s remark concerning 
the vine she replied : — “ Yis, that’s the way 
on’t. If ye don’t make the most of yer opportu- 
nities and climb as high as ye can, there’s usu- 
ally shrivelled fruit to pay. Make the most of 
yerself, my boy : I’d give my right hand to-day 
if I’d had your chance when I was young:’’ 
and surprised at herself on account of the 

speech ” which she had made. Granny Maxin 
turned and went into the cottage as Fred pur- 
sued his walk. 

“ Shrivelled fruit to pay, if ye don’t make the 
most of your opportunities ! ” — that was the 
thought which found lodgment in the heart of 
the careless, light-hearted Fred, and brought 
forth fruit in a life of large usefulness. 

In after years, often when ease or self-indul- 
gence asserted itself and tempted toward a low- 
ering of the life standard, he went back to that 
morning hour in Granny Maxin’s garden and 
drank in anew the lesson taught him through 
the clusters of withered grapes by a timely 
word ; and remembering this lesson, he roused 
anew filled with higher purposes and more earn- 
est endeavor. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


WHICH ? 

“ A little child shall lead them/^ 

TT was a beautiful evening — the close of one 
of those glorious days in October when 
Nature takes on her gorgeous robes and clothes 
herself in a beauty which is all the more strik- 
ing in contrast with the sombreness which so 
soon follows. 

The summer green of the foliage was chang- 
ing into that indescribable beauty which it as- 
sumes as it lessens its hold on vine or tree, 
and, its race being run, gives place to the germs 
of its successor, while it goes to carpet the 
earth in quietness or dances and whirls in grace- 
ful antics at the will of the autumn wind. 

It still lacked a good half hour of sunset, 
and it was seldom that Robert allowed such an 
opportunity for a walk to pass unimproved. 
But on this occasion he was oblivious to na- 
ture’s charms, and, in fact, to external influ- 
ences in general. 

His attention was turned within where a 
( 172 ) 


WHICH ? 


173 


fierce conflict was raging. His soul was a bat- 
tle-field where contending forces sought for 
mastery and swayed him like a reed before the 
wind, now in this direction and now in that 
as specious argument combated reason and the 
voice of conscience. 

He was alone in his room, his head bowed 
upon his hands and his whole attitude that of 
one who yields himself to the abandon of ab- 
sorbing thought. Never in all his life had he 
passed through such an experience. His being 
was stirred to its depths, for a life question 
was before him — one of those questions where 
duty points its steadfast finger in one direc- 
tion, while self-interest pleads and argues for 
a different course. 

As the reader already knows, he had decided 
upon the law as a profession. For some time 
past there had come to his mind questionings 
as to whether that profession were his God- 
appointed calling. Not but that the profession 
was a desirable one — but was it THE one for 
him to follow. Could he not do more for the 
Master in the gospel ministry? At first he 
put these thoughts from him as not for his 
entertainment. Had he not already decided 
for the law, and where was the necessity for 
a discussion of that subject ? 

This was the frame of mind he was maintain- 


174 


TENDING UPWAED. 


ing when lie laid liis plans before Arminta, and 
he was wholly unprepared for her remark. 
He would not for the world let her know it, 
but he went back to college feeling half an- 
gry with her for saying such a thing. What 
right had she so to interfere with his plans ? 

Again and again he went over the whole 
scene. He saw her as she sat beside him on 
the veranda in her low rocker, her hat lying be- 
side her, and a fleecy white shawl, which he al- 
ways enjoyed seeing her wear, wrapped around 
her shoulders. He remembered just the look 
which her face wore — one half of fear and half 
of earnestness as she said : — “ Shall I tell you 
what my thoughts were ? ” 

If he had only said. No ! But he could not 
have done that. How could he have known 
the effect of her words, and even had he known, 
he would scarcely have wished to stay them. 
What intensity there was in her tone as she 
said : — I thought how well calculated you 
were to become a leader of men, winning them 
up out of the dangerous places of sin and 
temptation and leading them along in the paths 
of righteousness and peace.” 

That w’as a woman’s way of putting it. 
Could he not be a leader of men in the law ? 
Was the legal profession lacking in a demand 


WHICH? 


175 


for Christian manhood, and need he be less a 
Christian in one case than in the other? 

Then there was another view of the case. 
Up to this time he had never realized how much 
Arminta had entered into his life plans, but 
now he saw it all. Life honor without her 
sharing would be but mockery, and the home 
which in his day-dreams he had thought to rear 
would be naught without her as a presiding 
genius. As a lawyer he could give a wife so- 
cial position worthy the name and perchance a 
home of wealth and luxury, but the ministry 
meant self-sacrifice and a limited supply of this 
world’s goods. 

Then there came to his mind the passage, “I 
would rather be a door-keeper in the house of 
my God than to dwell in the tents of wicked- 
ness.” But this only stirred the strife and 
found no response in his heart. What had that 
to do with the matter ? ‘‘ Tents of wicked- 

ness ” did not mean the law; and at the spirit of 
that other thought, “a door-keeper in the 
house of my God ” — ^he rebelled. No ! he was 
not willing to accept that. Self-sacrifice was 
well enough, and a humble sphere would do for 
those devoid of ambition, but not for him; and 
the visions of his boyhood re-appeared, enlarged 
and intensified. Men should bow before his 
eloquence and intellectual genius as he used to 


176 


TENDING UPWARD. 


in his childhood to that of his models in the 
court room. 

Then he began to ponder his own thoughts 
and the term humble service, as he had used it 
with reference to preaching Christ, struck him 
as it had never done before. 

Was it a humble service to preach Christ to 
men? He turned to history for those whose 
names stood highest as benefactors of man- 
kind, and questioned as to the secret of their 
power. 

What was the standard by which to measure 
life in its relations of great and small? The 
more he thought the more he questioned, and 
the more the subject grew upon him. He 
could not relinquish his cherished wish to sway 
men by personal power, but deep down in his 
heart there had originated a query as to whether 
his motive had hitherto been based upon high- 
est conceptions of moral power. 

Wealth as a supreme good shrivelled in its 
proportions as he thought of the rich man in 
the Scripture parable to whom God said: — 
Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be re- 
quired of thee,” and of the other of whom it is 
said: — “He died and was buried.” But the 
real point at issue was not personal preference 
or personal aggrandizement. It was, to what 
did God call him ? 


WHICH? 


177 


Full well he knew that real honor lay in wil- 
lingly walking in duty’s path, and that none 
are so truly exalted as those who abase self in 
service for God and humanity. 

Did God call him to the law, he could ren- 
der as true service there as elsewhere, but if 
his call was to the ministry he had no right to 
expect that as a lawyer he would prove a suc- 
cess. What would he not give if the question 
had never risen and he were back to the days 
of peace and quietness which preceded this 
unhappy questioning? 

His mind was not tranquilized by a memory 
which forced itself upon it and which was 
among his earliest recollections. He saw, at 
the twilight hour, a little figure robed in snowy 
white kneeling with clasped hands beside a low 
trundle bed. 

Beside him sat his mother who waited for 
the lisping of the evening prayer. But little 
Eobert was tired and sleepy and for the first 
time refused to utter those words so welcome 
to baby lips : — ‘‘ Now I lay me down to sleep.” 
He insisted that for once the mother should do 
the praying and he guessed ‘‘ Dod would keep 
him dust as well.” 

So the tired head rested on the downy pillow 
while the mother repeated the accustomed 
prayer, and then, forgetting the presence of the 


178 


TENDING UPWARDo 


child, pleaded with the heavenly Father for a 
blessing upon her only son. 

Was it prophetic, the spirit of her pleading? 
Did she anticipate this hour, as her impassioned 
soul sent forth the words : — “ O God, subdue 
his will and make him willing not only to pray 
to thee, but to do whatever thou wouldst have 
him do.” 

Rousing himself he looked out of the window 
and seeing the inducements which nature 
offered for a pleasant walk, he took his hat and 
went out. Wishing to be alone, he crossed the 
college campus and took a by-path to a rocky 
ledge, which lay just on the border of a wooded 
hill about half a mile from the college build- 
ings. 

He was very susceptible to the influences of 
nature, and he felt the power of these influ- 
ences as he slowly passed on his w^ay. The 
cooling breeze fanned his fevered cheek with 
grateful refreshing, and the beauty which every- 
where met his gaze calmed his inward tumult. 
A murky haze was in the air, as if to soften 
the intensity of this beauty lest it prove too 
overpowering for human sight, and clouds of 
insects sported as gayly as though summer were 
perpetual and their sporting time not near its 
close. 

He paused beneath a maple tree to gather 


WHICH ? 


179 


green leaves bordered with red, noticing that a 
little further on was one where those that were 
all red could be obtained, and that beside it 
stood an oak which would contribute those of 
a rich, golden brown. He gathered a large 
handful of the leaves, thinking that when he 
reached a favorite seat on the rock he would 
give them a closer examination. 

Just at the foot of the ledge stood a tumble- 
down cottage in which lived the family of old 
Joe Savid, the worst drunkard in the town. 

This family abounded in children, among 
which was a little girl five years of age who 
had often attracted his attention as he passed, 
by her singular beauty and coquettish airs, and 
with whom he had entered into a fast develop- 
ing friendship. Little Annette had a face 
which when clean made one think of pictured 
cherubs, but its usual coating of dirt dispelled 
any illusion which might otherwise have associ- 
ated itself with her as to her being other than 
an inhabitant of this mundane sphere. 

She had a complexion which might well ex- 
cite the envy of a city belle, dark speaking 
eyes and hair which when dressed hung in 
beautiful ringlets, but which was usually a con- 
fused jumble of natural coils flying in every 
direction in obedience to the motions of the 
restless little head. Her dress, which had evi- 


180 


TENDING UPWARD. 


dently belonged to some child in better circum- 
stances, was outgrown, but what cared little 
Annette. She had never known such attire be- 
fore and as long as there was a piece of it left, 
she would have clung to that rich red cashmere, 
even if necessity had not compelled its wear- 
ing, for she loved beauty in whatever guise it 
came. 

She had noted Robert’s approach while he 
was yet distant, and knowing his habit of pass- 
ing to a particular seat on the ledge, she made 
it convenient to reach that spot first. 

The sight of his little friend was not unwel- 
come to Robert. He had reached a point where 
his soul needed companionship), and it would do 
him good to come into contact with the sooth- 
ing influence of child thought. 

Seating himself beside her on the ledge, 
Robert showed Annette the leaves which he 
had gathered. 

The child was wild with delight. Her innate 
love of beauty was touched. Her expressive 
face was all aglow and her little hands clutched 
the leaves eagerly, but she handled them as 
carefully as though they were made of glass 
which she feared her touch might shiver. For 
a time she looked them over silently and then 
turning to Robert with an earnest, inquiring 
look said, “ Who made ’em ? ” 


WHICH ^ 


181 


The question went home to Robert’s heart. 
His mind went back to Dixie in the ravine, and 
this seemed to him another pleading call. 

He forgot the dirty face and uncombed hair, 
and drawing the neglected child more closely to 
him, he told her of the great God who made all 
things, and who, although so great, yet cares 
for the smallest object of his creation. 

The black eyes opened wide as he told the 
story of Christ blessing little children, and a 
new world of thought opened to the neglected 
Annette from that hour. 

The two walked back to Annette’s home to- 
gether, the child grasping firmly the treasured 
leaves which meant so much to her. Her us- 
ually busy tongue was quiet until just as she 
reached home, when she turned to Robert with, 
“ Please, Misther, I thank ’ee for the leaves and 
for telling me the pretty story of Jesus and the 
little children.” 

As Robert passed on he thought to take up 
again the burden of thought from which he 
had turned to lead the little child Godward, 
but somehow the matter did not take on its 
former coloring. 

The voice of the child came back to him — ■ 
“ Thank’ee for telling me the pretty story of 
Jesus and little cliildren. ” He had never felt 
60 keenly the joy of telling “ The old, old story ” 


182 


TENDING UPWARD. 


as when he noted the intense interest with 
which Annette drank in his words, and the 
long-drawn breath which she drew as he fin- 
ished speaking. 

If God had given him that soiil power through 
which he could thus reach other hearts, why 
not use that ability to his glory in his cause ? 

Gradually worldly considerations diminished 
in value, and selfish interests paled before the 
brightness of the picture which rose to his 
mind. He felt willing to abase self if thereby 
he might lead others to Jesus, and then and 
there, under the open canopy of heaven with 
God as his help and witness, he consecrated 
himself to the work of preaching Christ to men, 
and it was no unwilling sacrifice which he laid 
upon the altar of the gospel ministry. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


FRED. 

*^Sing and the hills will answer: 

Sigh, it is lost on the air. 

The echoes bound to a joyful sound, 

But shrink from voicing care.’^ 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

117ELL, Sister Min, I’ve done it, and now 
* ’ you may expect to see the great Fred- 
erick stand among the learned of the land. 

“Your little store of learning won’t be a cir- 
cumstance to the supply gathered from many 
books by your studious brother, and you will 
gladly retire to the shade of the back seat while 
he steps to the front of the rostrum and aston- 
ishes his native country, to say nothing of the 
wide world, with his eloquence — and, a-n-d — ” 

Arminta suggested the word “nonsense ” as 
the one that would supply the missing link, and 
then the subject drifted toward its more serious 
phase. 

Granny Maxin’s words had indeed proved 
the deciding weight of the balance with regard 
to a college course, in the mind of Fred. 

( 183 ) 


184 


TENDING UPWARD, 


Her “make the most of yourself ’’ was just 
the stimulus needed to fire his zeal and give him 
an impulse in the right direction, while the 
shrivelled and mildewed clusters of grapes would 
always stand to him a symbol of wasted oppor- 
tunities. 

He was a young man of good possibilities, but 
as yet many of these were latent. Back of his 
free and easy nature lay the germs of firm re- 
solve and steady purpose inherited from his 
mother, which, under favorable conditions 
would assert themselves and grow into staunch 
principles of action. 

He might not “soar and soar” so high as 
Arminta, but he would pluck more flowers by 
the wayside and gather up more of life’s little 
opportunities wherewith to bless others, and out 
of which to spin enjoyment for himself as out 
of golden store. 

We have previously noted his mothers well 
carried out purpose that her children should 
apply themselves to manual labor, and with 
Fred she had been faithful in this direction. 

Tasks consistent with his age and strength 
were assigned him which he was required to 
perform both regularly and faithfully, and re- 
peated omission on his part was treated as a 
grave offense. 

When the specified task required of him was 


FRED. 


185 


to fill the wood box, he was not allowed to omit 
the last armful, and he never forgot having to 
go without his supper one evening for the reason 
that two nights in succession he had failed to 
supply the chickens with that meal. 

Thus he was started out in life with regular 
business habits which were of incalculable value 
to him afterward. The foundation of that kind 
thoughtfulness for others together with that 
spirit of chivalry and deference to womankind 
which characterized his later life, was laid 
through required ministry not only to his 
mother and sisters, but to Granny Maxin and 
Aunt Hannah also. But this ministry was ren- 
dered so pleasing as to combine the idea of 
pleasure with that of duty in the mind of the 
boy, and thus the principle was established not 
only on a strong but a pleasant basis. Mirth- 
ful and fun-loving he would always be, but, 
based upon a solid sub-stratum of character; 
these are not undesirable qualities to take with 
one into the perplexing, shadowing vicissitudes 
of life. To see the funny side of an unpleasant 
experience is sometimes to come up out of it 
with a smiling instead of an angry countenance, 
and we have Scripture for the assertion : — “ A 
merry heart doeth good like a medicine.” 

Other things being equal, the man or woman 
who goes through life wearing a sunny face and 


186 


TENDING DPWABD. 


carrying about a cheerful air, has a great advan- 
tage over him or her of gloomy look and sombre 
mien. 

There is much of practical life as well as 
sound philosophy in those words of Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox: — 

“ Rejoice and men will seek you : 

Grieve and they turn and go. 

They want full measure of all your pleasure, 

But they do not need your woe. 

Be glad, and your friends are many ; 

Be sad, and you lose them all. 

There are none to decline your nectarM wine, 
But alone you must drink lifers gall.’^ 

Life is so freighted with sad and serious 
things, that “ The man who laughs ” often 
proves a happy diversion, and helps to bring 
the disturbed current of thought back into its 
proper channel. 

Having fully decided to enter college, Fred 
began to study in earnest, for as he had not 
previously applied himself any too earnestly to 
his books there was much preparatory work to 
be done before he could enter college halls. 
With one of his sisters for audience, he lectured 
Dixie on the naughtiness of lambkins who 
didn’t study as best they could, or told a touch- 
ing story of one who neglected his opportuni- 
ties instead of improving them as did that model 


FEED. 


187 


for all lambs which was owned by the historic 
Mary. 

His was a quick mind, and to apply himself 
was to make rapid progress, but, do his best, he 
could not get through his preparatory work 
until Robert was ready to enter upon his senior 
year. 

Here as elsewhere Arminta was of great serv- 
ice to him. Her education had been so thor- 
ough that she was capable of giving him in- 
struction in any branch required in his prepara- 
tory course which he was unable to pursue in 
the village school, and she readily gave herself 
to that work. What if she did now and then 
find a caricature of Dixie or a ‘‘brownie” 
among his geometrical figures : — the latter were 
invariably correct and a taste for drawing was 
desirable. Strange Latin quotations would also 
creep in, but the funny grimace which followed 
the correction of his patient critic forbade 
severe censure. 

Arminta inspired him with her love of study 
and insisted upon a thoroughness which tended 
to establish a habit which won him laurels 
worthy the name afterward. 

His increased studiousness made him none 
the less helpful to his father with the farm 
work, or less ready to lend a helping hand to 


188 


TENDING UPWABD. 


his sisters or to others to whom he could render 
needed assistance. 

Granny Maxin rejoiced in his decision, but 
heaved many a sigh at thought of the absence 
which its carrying out would involve, and Aunt 
Hannah hid her own sadness under cover of 
sympathy for his father and sisters in view of 
the contemplated separation. But, as in the 
case of many a seeming evil, there stood 
a contrasted good, as all thought of the 
long vacations; and smiles came unbidden 
in view of the possibilities associated with 
these. 

Fred and Arminta had many a long talk con- 
cerning the prospective college life. The lat- 
ter felt many misgivings as she thought of the 
thoughtless, impulsive Fred, away from the re- 
straints of home life surrounded by influences 
which she well knew were not always calcu- 
lated to lead toward the right. She knew that 
these four years would have much to do in 
determining his future life course. Her old 
habit of worrying was not wholly overcome, 
and in such earnest thought that it almost 
seemed reality, she crossed many an uncertain 
bridge, over which her pathway never lay. 

One fear that haunted her was that sur- 
rounded by so much that was new, the home 
ties would be loosened. Would he drift away 


FBEDo 


189 


from her so that henceforth the union between 
them would not be the same that it had 
hitherto been? She was so strong and stead- 
fast in her own affections that this thought was 
torture to her, and she allowed it to give her 
much unhappiness. 

As usual, it was Aunt Hannah that helped to 
allay her fears and set her right on the subject. 
In a conversation held on this subject Aunt 
Hannah said : — ‘‘ We can’t always be children, 
Arminty ; we change in our inner lives, as well 
as yield to the power of added years in our 
physical being. It is often hard, and not al- 
ways pleasant for doting parents or friends to 
realize that the man is supplanting the boy, and 
that henceforth it is the man rather than the 
boy that is to be considered. 

“It will do Fred all sorts of good to be placed 
where he will have to think and act for himself 
for a while, without some one at his elbow to 
tell him whether to take a plain or a hemstitched 
handkerchief, or whom he can depend upon to tell 
him when the school bell rings. Doubtless he’ll 
make some mistakes and sometimes go clearly 
wrong ; but that’s not so entirely different from 
what we do ourselves as to make it seem very 
strange to us. I wish we could feel that he 
was more strongly stayed on the solid rock of 
Christian principle, but there’s prayer, Ar- 


190 


TENDING UPWAED. 


minty, we’ll always remember that, and com- 
mit him unto him who is able to keep, and 
‘ Who turneth the hearts of the children of men 
as the rivers of water are turned.’ ” 


CHAPTER XX. 


KEFLEX INFLUENCE. 


“ God prepares his workers, out of sight, in the deeps of 
their own natures. He prepares them by giving them an 
absorbing fidelity in the unseen inner life, which spreads 
through all the soul and at last bxings the whole round of 
being into unity, and the soul is ready for any task, great 
or small. Then comes that noble, transcendent hour, 
when God^s command to do some high behest for him 
finds the soul ready girt for action, and full of power. 

It will be in an hour unknown to us that God will take 
our measure.” 


Mbs. M. Gates. 



RED, will you please harness my pony for 


me ? ” said Arminta as she appeared 
dressed for a drive. “ Lilian and I are going 
to town this afternoon, and you have put in an 
appearance just in time.” 

Fred came in with the air of one exhausted 
with fatigue, and throwing himself on a chair 
and, favoring Lilian with a telling grimace, he re- 
plied to Arminta’s request with the assertion 
that if she would wait until exhausted nature 
had had time to recuperate and the fatigue in- 
cident to a full half hour of' hoeing in a weedy 
flower garden had become a thing of the past, he 


( 191 ) 


192 


TENDING UPWARD. 


could manage to hitch her famous charger to 
the vehicle termed a phaeton, if such were her 
desire. 

‘‘ Come Fred, do lay aside 3^0 or nonsense and 
hurry up, for we are going to a King’s Daugh- 
ter’s meeting, and I have ever so many errands 
to do beforehand, which I shall fail of doing if 
you don’t make a straight line for the barn, 
forthwith,” said Arminta. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” was all the remark returned by the 
irrepressible Fred, as he started for the barn 
with a somersault, at a pace quite inconsistent 
with his former air of fatigue. 

‘‘A straight line in the barn, did she say? 
Ah ! that would be just the thing, but Dixie 
instead of himself should be the one to reap 
the benefit of the line.” 

After waiting some time for her carriage to 
appear at the door, Arminta made the dis- 
covery that her team was at the hitching post 
and that under the back of the carriage, after 
the manner of a coach dog, stood Dixie meekly 
waiting for his release. 

She did not know until Lilian happened to 
make the discovery, that Fred was peeping 
through a crack in the barn door to see how 
the affair came out, and, the meantime, he was 
thinking what an exceedingly useful animal 


KEFLEX INFLUENCE. 


193 


that lambkin was when he wished to perpetrate 
a practical joke. 

Once on her way, Arminta speeded the pony 
along to make up for lost time, while she 
divided the errands with Lilian in order to 
secure the more sure attention to each and all. 
Lilian could attend to the filling out of the 
memoranda at the dry goods store, and do an 
errand at the dressmaker’s, while she purchased 
family supplies and visited the post-office. 

This program arranged, they fell to talking 
of the one for the afternoon meeting, and Lilian 
spoke in glowing terms of a similar meeting 
which she had recently attended while on a 
visit to an adjoining town, where the girls were 
so much more interested than in their own 
circle. 

Truth was, Arminta was not working up to 
the measure of her ability in this field. She 
was a member of a circle of ten of her own age, 
which membership accorded with her taste and 
desires, for the circle was an exclusive one com- 
posed of young ladies from the first families of 
the town. 

But it was against her wish that she had 
been chosen as a leader by a much larger class 
of girls from various grades of social life, who 
had banded together to do service ‘^In His 
Name.” 


194 


TENDING UPWARD. 


This work having come to her she had taken 
it up and outwardly was most punctilious in 
the performance of duty, but her service lacked 
that inner spirit and life which alone can make 
the outward act most fully fraught with the 
highest success in the accomplishment of re- 
sults worthy the name. 

Of late she had come to feel more and more 
this lack in herself and its effect upon those 
under her charge. She planned work for them 
and they executed it, but there was a lack of 
the enthusiasm which marked the circle of 
which Lilian had spoken, and she was begin- 
ning to notice a lack of attendance which indi- 
cated a waning interest. 

Reaching the town, Lilian hitched the pony 
while Arminta went at once to her part of the 
errands. It was hers to visit the grocery and 
the meat-market, which she did in a most busi- 
ness like way, but her mind was so pre-occu- 
pied that she forgot both sugar and tea — two 
important items on her list. 

Then she wended her way to the post-office 
in a leisurely manner, quite at variance with her 
former haste and her eager scrutiny of the letter- 
box. ‘‘Box 31, please ! ” Ah! the letter was 
for her ! Did the office clerk recognize Robert’s 
handwriting, or was it only her own conscious- 
ness that made her think she detected a twinkle 


KEFLEX INFLUENCE. 


195 


in his laughing eyes as he handed her the 
epistle ? 

The King’s Daughters’ meeting was to be 
held in the church parlors, which it would re- 
quire about a five minutes walk to reach, and 
consulting her watch and finding that twenty 
minutes remained before the specified time of 
meeting, she decided to go at once to the church 
and read her letter before the arrival of the 
girls. 

The introduction of this letter we will not 
copy, neither its closing words— only a few of 
its central paragraphs 

“You may be surprised to learn that I have decided to 
enter the gospel ministry. 

“ Of the part which you have borne in the bringing 
about of this decision, I will not speak at length here but 
reserve that for a time when its mention will not necessi- 
tate the use of pen and paper, 

“ Suffice it to say that your applied figure of Dixie in the 
ravine still clings to my memory and, God helping me, I 
will go forth to listen to humanity’s pleading call, if per- 
chance, I may lead some up out of earth’s dark shadows 
into the light divine.” 

She instrumental in turning Robert toward 
the gospel ministry ! 

Could it be possible ? She had never realized 
so fully the power of one soul over another^ 
and especially was it a deepened realization to 
her that she possessed the ability so to enter 


196 


TENDING UPWARD. 


into and act upon other lives. She remem- 
bered her early dreams of usefulness as a 
foreign missionary, encircled as they were with 
a halo of glory, but even these grew dim in the 
clear light of present duty faithfully performed 
in the spirit of love which animated him who 
gave his life for sinful men. 

What her future might be she could not 
know, but the duty of the hour was close at 
hand — what should be the manner and the 
spirit of its performance ? 

Eobert had long been an inspiration to her 
toward a higher plane of living, but now she 
felt the power of that influence greatly in- 
creased. She knew that to this work which he 
felt to be his God-given calling, he would bring 
a large heart, full of holy purpose and high 
endeavor, together with a spirit of self-sacri- 
fice,. persevering energy and cheerful hopeful- 
ness, which would be likely to insure their due 
reward of success in any field of service. 

Her own life seemed to her tame and devoid 
of results. She did not realize the living power 
she was in the home circle, carrying out, as she 
had so worthil}^ done, her mother’s dying in- 
junction : — ‘‘Be patient with Fred and Lilian, 
and make home the pleasantest spot on earth 
for them and your father.” Neither did she re- 
alize the marked power which a strong charac- 


BEFLEX INFLUENCE. 


197 


ter like herself must necessarily be in social 
life. 

She saw rather her own failings and that 
specially with regard to lack of heart service 
in the work immediately at hand. She knew 
that it lay in her power to do better work for 
this band of girls to whom she stood as leader, 
if only she would bring more heart to the serv- 
ice. She went back to Robert’s letter with 
its enthusiastic spirit and consecrated tone and 
received a new impulse therefrom. She felt 
the reflex power which sometimes comes through 
doing good to others — the good flowing back in 
a stream of blessing upon him who had only 
thought to bless another, or perchance, without 
thought of results had simply done a duty or 
scattered a seed of kindness. 

Soon the girls came trooping in with their 
bright faces and inspiring presence, and Ar- 
minta wondered that they had never seemed 
more interesting to her before. 

They had always been shy and reserved in 
her presence, and she knew that even Lilian 
had felt a lack in her as a leader of the circle, 
from the way in which she had spoken of 'the 
leader of the meeting which she attended in 
another town. 

That afternoon there was a change. It com- 
menced in the heart of Arminta, from the 


198 


TENDING UPWARD. 


depths of which went up the silent but earnest 
petition — O God, help me to do this work 
with an earnest and loving spirit from this time 
forth.” 

It had sometimes been the case that time 
hung heavily on their hands before the hour 
appropriated for the meeting had passed, and 
on this occasion Arminta had provided herself 
with a story with which to fill the gap until the 
hands of the church clock marked the hour of 
four. 

But to-day she had no need for the story. 
How it was she could hardly tell for she did not 
realize how thoroughly she had changed her 
cold reserve for genuine warm-hearted interest ; 
but she soon found herself talking as familiarly 
with the girls as though she was one of their 
number, and she was surprised, not only at the 
interest which they manifested, but at the good 
suggestions which they were now ready to 
make and also to carry out, for doing service to 
the King whose daughters they claimed to be. 

One spoke of a poor old blind woman in the 
village who was in need of clothing which they 
might gather up among their friends if they 
could not themselves supply it. 

Another suggested that if she was blind she 
might like to have somebody who could see, 


REFLEX IKFLEENCE. 


199 


read to her, and three volunteered to act in 
that capacity. 

The sending of a basket of fruit to a member 
of the circle who was sick was next proposed, 
and then the making of fancy articles for a fair 
to be held at a later date, the proceeds of which 
were to be used for some benevolent purpose 
afterward decided upon. 

But the interest centred in a plan proposed 
by Arminta, that they also engage in sending 
flowers to the Flower Mission workers in the 
neighboring city. 

This work they continued with increasing 
zeal, each week sending a large box of small 
bouquets, until the last autumn flowers were 
used. 

Then regretting that this field of usefulness 
was to be so long closed, they turned to Ar- 
minta for further suggestions, and she set them 
to making scrap books for the use of sick chil- 
dren in hospitals. The leaves of these books 
were made of holland which was covered with 
pictures, either wood cuts or in colors. This 
latter industry proved a great benefit, not only 
to the workers themselves, but through the in- 
terest awakened among the sisters, brothers and 
friends of the parties immediately concerned 
and from this sprang other circles animated by 
a similar spirit. 


200 


TENDING UPWARD. 


Thus the wave of good broadened and deep- 
ened in its onward flow of blessing. In letters 
noting the sending of articles to different so- 
cieties, Arminta had suggested that it would in- 
crease the interest of the circle if they could 
know somewhat concerning the disposition of 
the articles sent, and we copy from letters sent 
in response to these suggestions. 

From the Flower Mission came the follow- 
ing:— 

“ My Dear Young Friends, 

“You, in your pleasant homes, 
surrounded by loving friends and cared for so carefully, can 
have little idea of the want and suffering in this great city 
or of the opportunities for service ‘ In His Name ^ which 
present themselves on every hand to the willing worker. 

“ Your box of daisies and clover blossoms came to hand 
just as I was starting out on my weekly round of visits to 
tenement houses, and I gladly filled my basket with them. 

“Once on the street, I noticed that it was not the poor 
only that looked eagerly toward my floral treasures. One 
gentleman in finest broadcloth, whom I afterward learned 
was an up- town merchant offered me a five dollar bill for 
our mission work, if I would give him a bouquet of those 
daisies. He said they took him back to the scenes of his 
boyhood, and it would do him good to turn aside from the 
rush and turmoil of his present life to the memories of 
those quiet days which the daisies brought. 

“He felt that he should be a better man for listening to 
the voices that spoke to him through that little cluster of 
wild flowers. 

“I could easily have disposed of them all profitably be- 
fore reaching my district of distribution, but knowing the 


REFLEX INFLUENCE. 


201 


disappointment which this would occasion there, I re- 
frained from doing so, and I had my reward. 

“ I have vseen eagerness before as I have distributed flow- 
ers among these poor, forlorn specimens of humanity, 
crowded like bees in a hive, into these overfilled dwellings, 
where the air reeks with stifling impurity, and where 
sights meet the eye and sounds the ear which make one 
sick at heart, both morally and physically. 

“ It has sometimes seemed to me almost sacrilege to take 
any thing so pure as the lovely flowers into these vile 
places. 

“Then I remembered the purity of him who considered 
none too vile for his redeeming, and ‘ In His Name ^ I went 
on my way, reproved for this passing thought. 

“ On entering the alley which had been assigned to me as 
my particular field, I was greeted with a chorus of welcom- 
ing voices, for this was not my first visit of the kind, and 
soon a colony of ragamuffins swarmed around me crowding 
and pushing, to say nothing of any worse demonstrations, 
to get as near me as possible in order to be sure of secur- 
ing ‘A bunch of them posies.’ 

“ If you could have seen them — faces unwashed, hair un- 
combed, clothing a thing of name rather than a decent fact, 
and faces whose lineaments betokened not only their origin 
but their schooling in sin — bold, hardened little faces that 
promised badly for the future ! 

“ Now and then there was one of better general appear- 
ance, clean and with garments that were whole though 
they might be made largely of patches ; but these were the 
exception rather than the rule. 

“ How I wished that I had flowers enough to send a bouquet 
into every home in that alley, but knowing that my supply 
was limited, I sought to make the most of what I had. 

“ The clamor was so great I could do nothing until some- 
thing like quiet was brought about and, inspired by the 
presence of a policeman, I stood quietly gazing upon the 


202 


TENDING UPWARD. 


crowd until they subsided sufficiently to allow my voice to 
be heard ; then I began the distribution of the contents of 
my basket. 

“Sometimes I am made glad and sometimes the tears 
start to see the way in which these flowers are received. 

“ You who look out on green fields from morning until 
night, and gather choicest bouquets at pleasure from well 
filled flower beds, cannot know what it is to be shut in by 
brick walls so closely that even a blade of grass is choked 
in its attempt to find breathing space, and a flowering plant 
springing out of the ground is a thing unknown, to many a 
child. 

“ Some of the bouquets were snatched from my hand with 
eager rudeness and quarreled if not fought over afterward 
to determine who should be the possessor, and I noticed 
that this question was usually settled on the principle — 
* Might makes right. ^ 

“Others were grasped by eagerly extended hands whose 
owner gave back a polite ‘ thank you ’ which corresponded 
illy with their dirt and rags, as they sped away either to 
make sure of keeping their treasures or to exhibit them to 
others. 

“ I noticed one little boy whose clothing consisted of only 
a shirt and what was left of what had once been a pair of 
trousers much too large for him, dividing his clover blos- 
soms exactly by two, and giving a full share to his little 
sister who could scarcely have been more delighted had a 
gold mine been opened at her feet. 

“Another gave his, one by one, to a group of men and 
women which had gathered around him apparently as 
eager as he for this bit of the country, though their ex- 
ternal appearance did not indicate a desire for anything 
that was good and pure. 

“ We And among the older residents of these alleys many 
who have at some period of their lives lived in the country, 
and most touching scenes sometimes occur through the rec- 


REFLEX INFLUENCE. 


203 


ollections inspired by these remembrances of bygone days 
and experiences. 

“I always reserve a few bouquets for cases of this kind, 
where there seems to be an opportunity to reach persons of 
this class. 

“ One old woman who was selling apples on a street corner, 
extended her bony hand as I passed and asked for some 
clover blossoms, which I gladly gave her. She pressed 
them to her bosom while the tears trickled down her 
cheeks as she exclaimed : — ‘ It’s like goin’ back to the 
days o’ my childhood, and roamin’ agin in the fields by 
the brook side, to catch the scent of these clover blossoms,’ 
and I noticed that before she turned again to her custom- 
ers, she carefully secured her bouquet where it would be 
free from harm in a corner of her basket until she could 
give it a closer examination on her return hon^e. 

“ I went through the alley and near its further extremity 
I saw an old man sitting alone on a curbstone. He was 
talking to himself and my attention was arrested by the 
words : — ‘ It’s time for the daisies in the meadows now, 
and the mowers are going forth to their daily toil.’ 

“ I listened further and he continued : — ‘ Yes, there was 
the upland meadow where the daises grew and the river 
flat — all paid for and given to me clean and free. But 
drink was my ruin and another mows the meadow which 
might still have been mine, while I rove as a vagrant and 
an outcast.’ 

“He was dressed in the shabbiest of clothes but I saw a 
daisy in his buttonhole and knew what had awakened his 
sad reflections. I had just one bouquet of clovers which 
without a word I handed him as I passed by, and the old, 
wrinkled face lighted up with a smile which I can never 
forget, if I live to be as old as he. 

“ These are only a portion of one afternoon’s incidents 
connected with my part of the Flower Mission, but they 


204 


TENDING UPWARD. 


may serve to give you some faint idea of what is being ac- 
complished by this blessed charity. 

True, flowers fade and their mission seems short, hut if 
you could see as I have done how, in poverty-stricken homes, 
even the withered blossoms are cherished, you would feel 
more than repaid for any efibrt which their sending may 
have cost you.^^ 

Concerning the scrap books, the following 
was received : — 

“ The scrap books came all right, and I wish I could 
give you the history of each one, but that would take more 
of time and space than I have at my command. 

“ As you requested, these books were taken to hospitals, 
but not confined wholly to those for children. On looking 
them over I became so interested in them myself that I 
wanted to use some of them in a general hospital where 
were special cases that I felt would be benefitted by this 
means of whiling away the weary hours. 

“ One of these cases was that of a young man who while 
working on the roof of a building had fallen and injured 
himself severely. He was far from home and friends, and I 
felt very sorry for him. He tried to be patient and put on 
a brave face, but pain and homesickness were too much for 
him, and I frequently noticed traces of tears on his face as 
I passed his cot. 

“ The next morning after the scrap books came I took one 
with me, thinking that after he had tired out the newspa- 
pers I would see if he would not be entertained for a time 
in looking over the book. You should have seen his face 
light up as he peeped between the covers. For a long time 
he poured over the pages, laughing at the funny pictures 
until his cot shook, and again deeply absorbed in the 
study of something historic or otherwise suggestive. 

‘‘ After he had finished with it, it was passed on to others 


REFLEX INFLUENCE. 


205 


and I do not think there was a patient in the ward that 
did not care to look at it. 

“Another was taken to the Women^s Ward, where I after- 
ward learned that it had suggested to several minds the 
idea of doing good in a similar way. 

“ But the children : — these books were to them a ‘ feast of 
fat things. ^ 

“ The leaves were so durable as to stand much handling, 
and I heard an old nurse remark that she had never seen 
anything brought into the Children's Ward that furnished 
more amusement for the little sufferers.’* 


CHAPTER XXI. 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 

The Master hath need of the reapers, 

And he calleth for thee and for me ; 

Oh haste while the winds of the morning 
Are blowing so freshly and free ; 

Let the sound of the scythe and the sickle 
Re-echo o^er hill-top and plain, 

And gather the sheaves in the garner. 

For golden and ripe is the grain.’’ 

Mrs. Thomson. 

R obert had nearly completed his last year 
of theological study. For some time he 
had been preaching — at first as supply in differ- 
ent churches, but recently he had engaged to 
act as pastor for one year to a church in a town 
near the one where he was studying, at the 
close of which period he purposed to enter upon 
his chosen life-work — that of a Home Mis- 
sionary. Where his particular field of labor 
should lie, was yet to be determined. One 
Friday morning as the postman brought the 
mail, he noticed among the letters assigned to 
him one in an unfamiliar hand, and upon open- 
ing it, he found it to contain an invitation from 
( 206 ) 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 


207 


the pastor of his home church to exchange 
pulpits with him on the following Sabbath. 

The invitation was accepted, and asking 
Fred to accompany him, the two constituted a 
surprise party at the farm and at Aunt 
Hannah’s cottage the following Saturday after- 
noon. With the exception of Fred, none of 
Robert’s home friends had heard him preach, 
this being the first time he had consented to 
occupy a pulpit in that town. 

The short space of time, and press of work, 
required the use of sermons already prepared, 
and it was a matter of no small moment to him 
to decide upon the ones to be used on this 
occasion. His usual practice was to have a 
written sermon in the morning and an ex- 
temporaneous one in the evening. 

After much thought upon the subject, he felt 
quite satisfied with his decision. The one for 
the evening should be different, but for the 
morning he would use one on which he prided 
himself more than on any thing else which he 
had ever written. He had prepared it for 
delivery before a body of ministers and it had 
been highly commended. However critical his 
audience might be, they could scarcely find 
fault with that, and he thought specially of 
Aunt Hannah with her strong common sense, 
and of Arminta with her broad range of 


208 


TENDING UPWAED. 


thought and her keen insight into abstruse 
theories. Truth to tell — the probable opinions 
of these two weighed more with him than all 
other considerations. 

On Saturday evening, as he was reviewing his 
morning’s sermon, he read, now and then, for 
Aunt Hannah’s ap^iroval, an extract on some 
point which seemed to him specially well de- 
veloped and clear. The sermon was one, in 
which he had dwelt largely on the different 
isms of the day, and refuted them with some- 
what of Scripture and much of theology. It was 
both strong and scholarly, but to Aunt Hannah’s 
mind there was something lacking. Her soul 
thirsted for more of the sincere milk of the 
word ” whereby to gain strength for the bear- 
ing of life’s every-day burdens and the meeting 
of its various vicissitudes in a proper spirit and 
manner. 

Strong theological meat was desirable for 
those to whom it was adapted, but few of his 
listeners would be called upon to combat a long 
list of heterodox dogmas. They were mostly 
plain, practical common-sense people, and like 
himself, would be most benefitted by that prac- 
tical teaching which would tend to build them 
up in the inner life, and lead them closer to the 
loving heart of the heavenly Father. 

But how could she lead Robert to see this 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 


209 


without wounding him ; and was it well to try ? 
Was she sure that her judgment was correct, 
and was it best to change his plan? Before 
expressing any opinion she would wait a little 
and see what seemed to be the thing to do. 

Robert finished his reading and then, some- 
what complacently, tilted back in his chair with 
his hands clasped behind his head, and waited 
for remarks from his grandmother. 

And they came: — “Well, Robbie my boy, 
that’s a strong sermon. It’s full of good points 
rounded by grand rhetorical flourishes, and I’m 
proud of it, but for myself, I’d like one with 
more of Christ in it. Say what thee will, this 
is the crying need of the world to-day — Christ 
a saviour, a helper and a burden bearer.” 

Little more was said and soon Robert went 
to his room. He went to bed, but not to sleep. 
His grandmother’s remarks had wholly un- 
settled his mind with regard to his morning’s 
sermon. He felt that his choice had been made 
with reference to human rather than divine 
approbation and he was humiliated by the 
thought. 

That was to him one of those test hours 
through which great souls pass, when they are 
emptied of self, and out of Avhose experiences 
they come forth, ready in a humble way devoid 
of self-seeking, to go forth to do whatever 


210 


TENDING UPWABD. 


comes to hand for God and humanity, be the 
service humble or exalted, as did Peter after he 
had seen the vision, and Paul after he had 
listened to the assurance — “ My grace is suffi- 
cient for thee.” 

The prayer of the publican came first to his 
lips and this merged into one for divine help 
and guidance in the matter directly in hand. 

More of Christ — the crying need of the 
world to-day — Christ a saviour, a helper, and a 
burden bearer — that thought took hold upon 
his mind with a life-long grasp, and sank into 
the depths of his soul as a motive power. 

Its influence was afterward felt in many a 
settler’s cabin, and men with grimy hands and 
unshaven faces suppressed the oath and 
hastened to brush away the unbidden tear, as, 
in their soiled working garments, they stood 
with uncovered heads and listened attentively to 
the touching story of Christ the burden-bearer. 

Then Robert’s mind went back to the oc- 
currences of the previous Sabbath. In the town 
where his pastorate lay was a State Peniten- 
tiary. It had long been the custom of the min- 
isters of this town to take each his turn in pay- 
ing visits to this institution and preaching to 
the convicts on Sabbath afternoon. 

Robert had several times gone with a brother 
minister on these visits, but never preached 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 


211 


there until the previous Sabbath. His interest 
had been strongly enlisted, for among the con- 
victs were several young men of about his own 
age. He had learned somewhat of the history 
of some of these, and his heart went out in 
sympathy and he wished to do them good. 

It seemed to him a pleading call from the 
ravine of parental neglect and youthful folly, 
and the call of Dixie previously noted, had 
not appealed more strongly to his natural in- 
stincts than did this to his higher, deeper na- 
ture. This spirit had animated the sermon 
which he presented for their consideration and 
which had a marked effect upon his audience. 

He had taken for his text the passage : — 
“ The Master is come and calleth for thee.” He 
held the attention of his audience from the first 
as he dwelt upon the coming of the Master, 
to the sin-cursed earth as its Saviour and Re- 
deemer. Then he spoke of him as standing 
at the door of each individual heart and knock- 
ing for entrance — sometimes until his locks 
were wet with the dews of the night — wait- 
ing to obtain that entrance which alone can 
bring peace to the darkened, restless soul. 

Tears were in many eyes as he made his 
closing appeal. He had lost himself in his 
theme, and was hidden behind the cross which 
he held lovingly up to those before him. 


212 


TENDING UPWARD. 


This scene passed vividly in review before 
his mind, and then there occurred the thought 
of using that text the next morning. He could 
follow out much the same train of thought, 
only changing as conditions required. The 
term Master ” might be more enlarged upon, 
and the personal appeal would need to include 
more reference to the call of God to the indi- 
vidual Christian to rouse to the special work set 
apart of God for his doing. 

He wondered that he had never before felt 
more fully the spirit of his grandmother’s re- 
marks, and the words “ More Christ in it ” were 
the last on his mind as he dropped off to sleep. 

Sunday morning came and the church was 
filled, for outside of the regular congregation 
which worshipped there, Robert had many 
friends who were desirous to listen to him. It 
seemed strange to him to occupy the desk in- 
stead of his accustomed seat beside Aunt Han- 
nah, and involuntarily his mind went back to 
an occurrence of many years previous. 

When a child he had gone alone to a church 
to get a book left by his grandmother, and boy 
like, just to see how it would seem had gone 
into the pulpit and stood as if to address the 
congregation. As he did so such a feeling of 
awe came over him that he was glad to get 
down the pulpit steps as quickly as possible. 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 


213 


Then the silence of the church was so oppres- 
sive that he found it desirable to scamper away 
as fast as his feet could carry him. 

Something of the same awe came over him 
now, only deepened and intensified many fold 
by the thought of the occasion and its responsi- 
bility. Like one of old he heard the voice of 
God commanding that he speak unto the people 
the words of life, and he feared lest human 
frailty prove insufficient for the execution of 
the great commission in its full scope. 

He almost felt like leaving his place as pre- 
cipitately as he had done on the former occa- 
sion, but with bowed head he sought a blessing, 
then turned to his audience. 

Familiar faces met him everywhere, and to 
him they seemed very expectant faces. In the 
front pew sat old Deacon Glines who had now 
become so deaf as to render the use of an ear 
trumpet necessary. Just back of him. was a 
seat which, ever since he had known the cir- 
cumstances, had been occupied by two maiden 
sisters who always marched into church in 
the same dignified, stately way, the elder lead- 
ing and standing aside in most courtly fashion 
while her sister entered the pew, and it was said 
that within the memory of the oldest inhabitant 
they had never been known to be late in at- 
tendance on divine service. 


214 


TENDING UPWAED. 


The Sherman pew was, as usual, occupied by 
Mr. Sherman and Lilian. Arminta had long 
presided at the organ, and Fred took his ac- 
customed seat beside her with his violin. He 
had thought to see his grandmother looking 
lonely in a seat by herself, but he noticed that 
Granny Maxin had left her seat near the door 
and was seated beside her. 

The organ voluntary was followed by the in- 
vocation, which was no heartless form of speech. 
The oft repeated : — Help us to worship thee in 
spirit and in truth ; ” came as a real prayer, and 
was supplemented by the earnest petition : — 
‘‘Put thoughts into thy servant’s heart which 
shall voice themselves in words flowing through 
consecrated lips ; and let these words, we be- 
seech thee, enter hearts prepared by thy Spirit 
for their reception, and bring forth fruit to 
thine honor and glory.” 

“ The Master is come and calleth for thee.” 
That was the text, and the theme, Christ and 
his call. The speaker paled slightly as he re- 
peated his text, and it was well that he had 
jotted down his introduction. But there was 
little place for self-consciousness among the 
great thoughts that crowded around that theme 
and soon his voice rose clear and strong and 
self was left behind. There was no attempt at 
display — only the presentation of truth in a 


HE CALLETH FOR THEE. 


215 


plain, practical way with which even Aunt 
Hannah could find no fault. 

After speaking of the coming of the Master 
and the nature of the call to be considered he 
spoke of the readiness with which, in the Scrip- 
ture narrative, Mary responded to the words 
of the text, and from this drew a lesson for the 
consideration of Christians on immediate re- 
sponse to God’s call whether it came in the 
form of required performance of duty, patient 
sufi'ering or endurance, or of greater consecration. 

He mentioned the case of Philip and the eu- 
nuch, and wondered what would have been the 
result had Philip stopped to question the expe- 
diency of starting immediately, or loitered on 
his way until the eunuch had passed the point 
where their two ways met. He also referred to 
the anger of the Lord kindled against Moses, 
because he pleaded slowness of speech and 
tongue as an excuse for declining the work to 
which he was called. 

He felt that he could not close without a 
word to some before him, who he feared, had 
not as yet listened to the divine call, and the 
contrast between these and those to whom he 
had spoken on the previous Sabbath struck him 
forcibly. 

In the case of the convicts, lack of early* 
Christian training had been the rule rather 
than the exception, but here the case was re- 


216 


TENDING DPWAED. 


versed. There were probably few if any before 
him who had not from their cradles been sur- 
rounded by Christian influences, and what 
could he say to such ? 

His words were few, but deeply pathetic, and 
to the point. Most touchingly he held up 
Jesus before them in his sacrificial aspect, and 
then as a sympathizer and comforter in all life’s 
sad and trying experiences. 

He solemnly impressed the fact that “ He 
calleth for thee : ” necessarily involved respon- 
sibility on the part of the called ; for to the in- 
dividual it was given to decide what the result 
of the call should be. 

His closing thought was that of — Master. 

‘‘ Know yc not that to whom ye yield your- 
selves servants to obey, his servants ye are to 
whom ye obey ; whether of sin unto death, or 
of obedience unto righteousness ! ” was his Scrip- 
ture argument, and he called on one and all to 
determine who their Master should be. The 
closing hymn was Frances Ridley Havergal’s 
“ Consecration Hymn ” commencing ; — 

“Take my life and let it be 
Consecrated, Lord to thee.’^ 

and for the first time Fred honestly voiced its 
sentiments in his heart, and Granny Maxin 
knelt in prayer that night as she had not done 
before since she was a child. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“SPIRITS ANEAE.” 

** We murmur a song, and our spirits blend ; 

We dream the same dreams, though we know it not ; 
Our spirits have learned the secret, to send 
Their messages each to the other’s heart. 

“No protest, no vow can strengthen the bond : 

O, meaningless words, when silence is dear ! 

The converse of love is sweeter, beyond 
The shallows of speech, to spirits anear.” 

S. H. Thayer. 

niSTER MIN, Robert will take you to 
^ church this evening. Aunt Hannah isn’t 
going, Father and Lilian take the carriage, and 
I’ll be generous enough to walk and let the 
parson ride in the pony phaeton, which he will 
probably imagine to be the ‘ One Hoss Shay.’ 
Isn’t that good of me ? ’’—and Fred looked as 
sanctimonious as though he were about to be 
placed on the catalogue of saints — casting, the 
meantime, a glance at Lilian which convulsed 
her with laughter. 

It was not difficult for Arminta to under- 
stand why Fred preferred walking to church 
that evening. 


( 217 ) 


218 


TENDING UPWARD. 


She had never seen him so absorbed in any 
sermon as he had been in the one to which he 
listened that morning, and she believed that he 
had heard the call. She noticed that his hand 
trembled as he took his violin, and she felt 
rather than saw that he was drinking in the 
spirit of the closing hymn, as he drew his bow 
across the strings. She knew that he wanted 
to be alone and think, and that the quiet walk 
would do him good. 

Evening came, and Robert called early, for 
he wanted to discuss with Arminta a question 
in theology which was to form the basis of an 
address which he was to deliver the next week. 

The theological point was duly discussed and 
settled, while yet a little time remained, and 
then there was the ride to and from church. 
True, there was the evening sermon to talk 
over, and the remarks which one and another 
of Robert’s friends had made concerning it. 

There was also the matter of Robert’s 
changed plan of lifework to be discussed, and 
he spoke of the influences which had biased his 
decision, of the joy which he had already ex- 
perienced in the change, and of his hopes for 
the future. 

A deep solemnity tinged his tone as he re- 
ferred to one hope concerning which he had as 


“SPIRITS ANEAR. 


219 


51 


yet never dared to speak, but which had for 
years been gaining strength. 

Then silence fell between them — that silence 
more suggestive than words, when heart re- 
sponds to heart, and each seems to know as by 
instinct what is passing in the mind of the 
other. There was no formal phrasing of the 
question which should make their lives one. 

Love is its own interpreter. Its deepest lan- 
guage is not that of the tongue, nor its strong- 
est pledges those which voice themselves in 
speech. Soul asks of soul its own measure of 
confidence and fidelity, and true, honest love 
answers back the I will ” in a handclasp, or 
the token of the lips, as truly and solemnly as 
any words can do. What is there this side of 
heaven that is holier, than the love of conse- 
crated, Christian souls? 

And this was the love which these two 
plighted as they faced the life which lay before 
them. What it might bring to them they knew 
not. Young and hopeful, the flowers bordering 
its pathway which together they should gather 
lured them on. 

Why should they shrink from, or tremble for 
the future? Was not God leading them, and 
each in the other, felt strong to cope with life’s 
varied experiences? They had reached that 


220 


TENDING UPWAED. 


point through different experiences, but each 
had learned that 

“Not enjoyment, and not sorrow 
Is onr destined end or way ; 

But to live that each to-morrow 
Find us further than to-day.’* 

Speaking from their respective standpoints, 
Granny Maxin would have said : — “ Life is a 
grind, whether ye’r married or single ” while 
Aunt Hannah would have put it : — “ The path 
of the just is as the shining light that shineth 
more and more unto the perfect day.” A sor- 
row shared is lessened in its weight, and a joy 
extended to another comes back to the giver 
with increased measure. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


MUSIC IN THE AIR. 

“They have the most ‘good times ^ on earth, 

Who make good times for others.*^ 

Sarah K. Bolton. 

A CHAPTER in Fred’s college life may not 
be uninteresting. 

Once having decided on this course, he had 
gone through the preparatory work creditably 
and passed a fair entrance examination. It 
was most satisfactory to all parties concerned 
that he and Robert could still be together. 

Robert had yet one year in college, and as 
there was a theological seminary connected 
with this college, it was probable that he 
would decide to take his theological course 
there. 

To Arminta this thought had much to do 
in lessening her anxiety, for she knew that 
Robert would not only be a safe companion for 
him, but that he would also watch over and 
keep him from irregularities of conduct andv 
life into which his impulsive nature and love of 
fun might lead him if he were associated only 

( 221 ) 


222 


TENDING UPWARD. 


with those of loose habits and careless prac- 
tices. 

Fred’s first letter to Arminta after he left 
home is so characteristic that we take the lib- 
erty to copy it in full. 

“ Temple of Learning, 

“Town of S 

“Day 8, Month 9, A. D. 18— 

“Dear Sister Min, 

“ Yonr anxiety to hear from the learned- 
that-is-to-he, shall be considered, therefore this resort to 
pen and paper. 

“ S was reached as hy appointment, and next morning 

your humble servant repaired to the Temple of Learning 
for the purpose of ascertaining as to whether his cranium 
held sufficient store of knowledge to admit of his holding 
a seat among those who were to sit at the feet of the Gam- 
aliels, who appeared in numbers sufficient and with dignity 
equal to the frightening away of any stray ideas that might 
have ventured to assert themselves. 

“Be it known unto you, and let your mind hold it in re- 
membrance in days to come, that the escutcheon of yours 
truly bore no stain, and he duly entered the ranks of the 
Freshmen. His class numbers six tens and four units, he, 
of course, being one of the units. The maximum age in 
this class is twenty seven years and two months and the 
minimum, sixteen years and four months. 

“ The collective height is three hundred and fifty two 
feet, with an average of five and one-half feet. 

“The computation of the intellect of this august body is 
an impossibility. That must speak for itself in future rec- 
ord. One of the tens above referred to, first saw the light 
of day among the verdant hills of Vermont. Generous 
Ohio contributed a second, and a third spent childhood’s 


MUSIC IN THE AIK. 


223 


happy hours in New Jersey. Twenty-five claim the Em- 
pire State as their maternal progenitor, while the rest are 
about equally divided between Massachusetts, Connecticut 
and I-don’t-know-where. 

“The first recitation of the learned- that-is-to-be was 
something worthy to be chronicled on the pages of history. 

“He let X represent more improbable things than that 
staid letter situated so near the rear of the alphabet, ever 
thought of personating; and Y capered like a jumping jack 
out of time and tune. But confidence returned never more 
to depart, in time to give the recitation a standing of 
* zero ’ if no more. 

“ Pardon the suggestion — but let yours truly, entreat that 
you never again put a dignified Freshman to the humilia- 
tion of giving a description of his room during the early 
days of its occupancy ; especially if he is one of the favored 
who have been looked after by careful sisters. 

“ Chaos, is the word used by us of college breeding to defi- 
nitely and pointedly express the state of things existing in 
such apartments. Tables are such convenient receptacles 
of bric-a-brac, and that term can be made to include such a 
variety of things ; from text books and writing materials 
to musical instruments and every conceivable article of the 
toilet. Chairs too, can make themselves exceedingly useful 
in their way, and you would be surprised to see the ingen- 
uity of Freshmen in adapting things in general to their 
proper uses. 

“ Tell Dixie that a new use for lambs^ wool has been dis- 
covered, which is to absorb the ink which fiows from the 
bottle which your chum has upset in consequence of its 
being overshadowed too deeply by collars and cuffs which 
should have hidden themselves away in a bag marked 
‘laundry.^ 

“Also, please remark to that sister of yours — Lilian by 
name — that a certain lad would give all the verbs in the 
Latin grammar for a sight of her face this morning : and 


224 


TENDING UPWARD. 


if it would be any comfort to you to be possessed of the in- 
formation, be it known unto you, that the same youth 
would willingly draw geometrical figures without a single 
departure from the rules of strict propriety, if only he 
might recite to you instead of to the august strangers who 
now preside over him. 

“ But ‘ I hear the bells a ringinV therefore you will please 
pardon this hasty adieu of 

“ Your loving brother, 

“Feed.’^ 

Arminta well understood Fred’s letter, and 
knew that a feeling of homesickness had sug- 
gested the last lines. 

The next mail carried him breezy epistles 
from herself and Lilian containing the promise 
that others should follow at short intervals. 

Robert was unremitting in his attentions, in- 
troducing him to such young men as he felt 
would be safe companions for him, and smooth- 
ing the path of college life in various ways, as 
only ^ one can do who has himself trodden that 
path and realized its roughness and its pitfalls. 

Fred’s good nature and his happy w^ay of 
making friends soon made him a general favor- 
ite. Before he had been long in college, through 
Robert’s instrumentality he was invited to join 
a musical club. This club was considered a 
select affair, and to become a member of it was 
thought to be a high honor. Fred was the first 
freshman who had attained unto this dignity 


MUSIC IN THE AIR. 


225 


and some of his classmates were inclined to be 
jealous of this seeming show of partiality. 
They called him the Jolly Fiddler, and were 
fond of perpetrating jokes — practical or other- 
wise — at his expense. He was an excellent 
performer on the violin, and was a valuable 
acquisition to the club, but these jokes annoyed 
him so thoroughly that he almost wished he had 
hidden his musical talent. He had always been 
sensitive concerning any thing which looked 
like putting himself forward or seeming to pre- 
fer himself to others, and especially sensitive 
with regard to musical performance. 

It was a long time before Arminta, who acted 
as organist in church, could induce him to act 
as her accompanyist during church service. 
But he covered his annoyance and took the 
jokes so good naturedly that the perpetrators 
of them felt that they nearly lost their fun. 
Near the close of his freshman year came a time 
when the sophomores determined to play a 
parting joke on the “ Jolly Fiddler,” and they 
remarked with would-be facetiousness, that 
“ the patience acquired on this occasion would 
be a valuable acquisition as he entered upon the 
dignity of his sophomore year.” 

The young ladies of a Female Seminary sit- 
uated in the same town were to give a public 
entertainment, in which they invited this club 


226 


TENDING UDWARD. 


to join. The plan of the sophomores was this: 
just before the hour appointed for the open- 
ing of the entertainment, they would file into 
Fred’s room with all sorts of musical instru- 
ments from a jewsharp and a mouth organ, to a 
banjo and a drum, and ask him to lead them in 
a grand concert which they would continue 
until long past the hour when he would desire 
to leave, and thus he would be held prisoner. 

In some way Robert learned this plan and at 
once set to work to devise some means of ex- 
tricating Fred from an unpleasant position, and 
turning the joke back on the perpetrators. 

Having been “through the mill” he under- 
stood the tactics and was not long in devising a 
scheme for disconcerting the expectant sopho- 
mores. 

On the evening in question, a sophomore who 
met Robert uptown in his black suit with derby 
to match, chuckled to himself as he noticed the 
cornet in his hand and inferred that he was 
going to Fred’s room. 

His mental comment was : — “ He’d better get 
out o’ there early or our fun is spoiled. We 
don’t want to coop a senior.” There was noth- 
ing unusual in the fact that Robert called at 
number twenty -five, to practice with Fred for 
a time. This was frequently done, and of 
course they would wish to be sure of them- 


MUSIC IN THE AIR. 


227 


selves before appearing in so grand an enter- 
tainment. 

The sophomore referred to kept watch out- 
side and noticed an early departure of the 
black suit and derby, so nothing stood in the 
way of the fun. Soon the troop of sopho- 
mores with their musical instruments, marched 
up the steps of the boarding hall with mili- 
tary precision, then filed one by one up the 
stairs which led to number 25. 

Fred’s room was situated at the end of a 
wing of the building, in full view of a range 
of windows in rooms occupied by juniors, and 
these juniors had been let into the secret and 
were on the watch to see the fun go on. Be- 
fore knocking for admittance, this improvised 
band struck up ‘‘ Yankee Doodle ” with about 
as much of harmony as would be produced 
by a mixed flock of crows and magpies. 

Then followed a rap at the door in which 
at least six participated, and, the door being 
opened they rushed hastily in. They were 
greeted by an elaborate address of welcome by 
one who wore Fred’s gray suit and assumed 
as nearly as possible his manner, but proved to 
be Robert. The address closed by craving 
pardon for the act, and a statement of the 
fact that the necessities of the case required 
the absence of the eqteytainej’ for a short time^ 


228 


TENDING UPWARD. 


but LATER he would be glad to bestow upon 
them all desirable attention, and with a pro- 
found bow, Robert slipped out of the door 
near which he stood, and turning the key 
which he had previously placed in the lock on 
the outside of the door, he made prisoners of 
the would-be jailers and, much to their cha- 
grin, turned back on them the tide which they 
designed for another. 

The watching juniors took in the double 
joke with loud applause, and to the end of 
their college course, this class never ceased to 
hear allusions made to the long-drawn-out mu- 
sical entertainment in number 25. 

At first it came hard for Fred to apply him- 
self constantly enough to make desirable prog- 
ress. He never took so high a position in 
his classes as Robert in his; but he did thor- 
ough work and passed creditably through the 
required four years. 

Vacations were happy times not only for the 
students but for their respective families as well. 
The former were like colts let loose in pasture 
and kept things in general stirred up in lively 
fashion. Then there were picnics, boat rides, 
and excursions given in their honor, until 
Granny Maxin declared her wits exhausted by 
way of getting up something new in the way 
of refreshments, and Aunt Hannah suggested, 


MUSIC IN THE AIK. 


229 


in her quiet way, that it might be as well for 
the youngsters to come down to plainer fare, 
and to have a little more of manual labor 
mixed in with their good times by way of 
change, if not of profit. Each haying season, 
they took their former places in the field, and 
the farm hands looked for plenty of fun in con- 
nection with the severe labor of the hay field. 

After the haying season was over there was 
no lack of occupation on the farm, and then 
there was Granny Maxin’s garden to be looked 
after, and any possible repairs needed about her 
house. 

She, on her part, never forgot to furnish 
cakes and tarts like those which Fred used to 
enjoy so much when he was a child, and he de- 
clared that college life had increased his ability 
in the direction of stowing away a good supply 
of these. 

Each year added to Fred’s manliness of char- 
acter, but he would never attain unto Robert’s 
dignity of bearing. The rollicking, fun-loving 
Fred he would always be, in spite of weight of 
years and the burden of circumstances of what- 
ever nature. So amid work and diversion the 
happy years rolled on, as years will, whether 
their days, weeks and months mark advance or 
retrogression in life and character. 

And thus it must be, for there is no standing 


230 


TENDING UPWAED. 


still. The tree that has ceased to grow has be- 
gun to decay, and the forces of nature which 
once ministered to its growth now hasten its 
progress toward loss of strength and final life- 
lessness. When Fred was in his senior year 
he, together with three of his classmates, de- 
cided to make the medical profession their 
chosen life-work. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE STRIKE. 

“ Be ye therefore, wise as serpents and harmless as doves. 

I N a lonely spot on a western prairie, a knot 
of men were collected at a low shanty, 
over the door of which in awkward letters done 
in red paint, was the word, “ TAVERN.” 

This building might well have been labeled — 
Gateway to Inferno — for, to become a frequent 
visitor thereto was, in general, to become well 
started on the road toward the infernal regions. 

It was a liquor shop of the lowest type. Its 
only claim to what might seem to be adver- 
tised by the flaunting sign, was the fact that 
an occasional traveler so belated as to make 
this an unavoidable necessity,- sometimes had 
the hardihood to place his watch and his pocket- 
book under his pillow and pass a sleepless night 
in the onl}^ place which ofFered any sort of 
accommodations. The appearance of the group 
that was gathered in and around this building 
was striking. 

It reminded one of the Scripture — “ Out of 
every nation under heaven,” and the confusion 

( 231 ) 


232 


TENDING UPWARD. 


of tongues at the Tower of Babel could scarcely 
have been more marked. Their costumes were 
as varied as were their forms and faces, but in 
one respect each resembled all the rest — dirt 
was the rule, and rags could scarcely be consid- 
ered an exception. Evidently the bar of the 

tavern ” had been well patronized, and the 
landlord, a burly German, had the appearance 
of being one of his own best customers. 

Ten nationalities were represented, and each, 
either in native dialect or in broken English, 
was asserting his lung power in vigorous style. 
It seemed to matter little whether the auditors 
equaled the speakers. 

There are times when one prefers to hear his 
own voice, and this seemed to be one of such 
times. Amid this din, the silent listener, had 
there been one, could have caught the words, 
‘‘ strike,” ‘‘ money,” “ boss,” and many others, 
not in plain English and by themselves, but in 
mixed jargon, and so surrounded and covered 
by profanity and foulness as to make one sick 
at heart. 

The ‘‘tavern” referred to was built at this 
place owing to the fact that a railroad which 
was being built through that region was to have 
a station at that place. 

This road was now so nearly completed up to 
this point that a passenger coach was attached 


THE STRIKE. 


233 


to a freight train which came in each afternoon, 
and an occasional passenger already began to 
put in an appearance in those wilds. 

As the time for the arrival of this train drew 
near the crowd moved out to what they termed 
‘Hhe depot” though as yet that structure ex- 
isted only in imagination. There were sullen 
looks on some faces, angry ones on others, and 
on a few ugly defiance. Fact was, a strike had 
been declared among the hands employed in 
building the railroad. 

The cause of this disturbance was the fact 
that the pay for their labor had not been given 
them according to promise. The reason of this 
delay was sickness on the part of the paymas- 
ter, but this the hands did not know and, natur- 
ally, they were clamorous for their just dues. 

The paymaster was expected on this train, 
and if he came and dealt justly, all would be 
well and they would return to their work on 
the morrow ; but if not — threatening gestures 
and abundant profanity were the outward indi- 
cations of what was seething within the hearts 
of this uncouth mob. 

The train stopped, and one passenger dis- 
mounted. He was dressed in clerical black 
much covered with the dust of travel, and in 
his hand he bore a huge valise. The company 
which met him was not an attractive one to a 


234 


TENDING UPWARD. 


fastidious taste, and we can scarcely wonder 
that Robert, tired and hungry, felt a feeling of 
home sickness steal over him as he thought of 
other scenes and other faces. 

But there was little time to look longingly 
toward the past. The present required all his 
mental tactics, to say nothing of courage and 
decision. 

Before he was off the steps of the train, he 
was greeted with — “ Say, stranger ! who be yez, 
and what yer doin’ in these diggins ? ” 

“ Mighty foine ye are with yer derby and yer 
broadcloth,” said another, “ and I wonder of 
yer sachel don’t hold somethin’ the rest on us 
would like ! See my coat’s thin ! ” and with that 
the speaker poked the dirty elbow of his shirt 
sleeve which protruded through a hole in that 
of his old blue blouse, directly into Robert’s 
face. 

For a moment Robert was nonplussed, but 
his wits were keen and he was seldom at a loss 
for a way out of an unpleasant dilemma. 

In a flash the meaning of this came to him. 

Many miles back, he had occupied a seat 
with a gentleman who told him of a strike 
which was being carried on, on that railroad at 
its further extremity, but he had no idea that 
the point indicated was the place where he was 
to stop. 


THE STRIKE. 


235 


This same gentleman had also directed his 
attention to a man whom he told him was the 
paymaster, going on with funds for the strikers. 

This paymaster was frail looking, and was 
accompanied by a physician. They occupied 
the seat directly in front of Robert, and he 
heard the physician say : — You can not with 
safety to yourself, meet that crew to-day. You 
must rest to-night at this station and go on 
to-morrow.” 

Robert had made no account of what he had 
heard as he had no idea of hearing any thing 
more of the matter, but now he took in the 
state of things at once — the place where the 
strike occurred, and the place of his destina- 
tion were one, and he had been precipitated into 
the midst of the muss unawares. 

This was worse than any college scrape he 
had ever had a hand in, but his past experi- 
ence might tend to furnish a clue to some 
method of working his way out of the present 
unpleasantness. 

He had learned enough of the affair to 
understand the disappointment of this group, 
and he did not so much wonder at their angry 
looks and menacing gestures, when they saw 
that the paymaster did not appear. 

He saw that there was something beside 
‘‘music in the air.” An angry mob, half 


236 


TENDING UPWARD. 


crazed by liquor, might not make it specially 
pleasant for him, if their inconsiderate frenzy 
happened to turn in that direction. His first 
impulse was to tell them what he had learned 
on the train ; then he considered that the most 
important part of his information was gathered 
through overheard remarks, and such he did 
not wish to repeat. 

Then, he remembered the pale face of the 
young man and the apparent anxiety of the 
physician, and determined to spare him, for he 
judged that did these men know his where- 
abouts, they would not hesitate to take the rail- 
road track and walk the eight miles that inter- 
vened between their station and the one where 
the paymaster had stopped, in which case there 
would be no peace until the matter was ad- 
justed, whatever it might cost the paymaster. 

It would be useless to say that Robert was 
not frightened. From childhood he had had a 
horror of intemperance, which had not lessened 
as he had mingled with men and seen darker 
phases than his childhood ever dreamed. His 
face paled slightly and he grasped tightly the 
handle of his valise as he left his position on 
the lower step of the car, and mingled with the 
crowd if thereby he might force his way 
through and reach pleasanter quarters. His 
bearing was dignified and stately, and evidently 


THE STEIKE. 


237 


the difference between him and themselves im- 
pressed itself upon some of the throng. 

There was a momentary lull in the babel of 
sound, but it was of short duration. 

He was jostled about, his hat was knocked 
off, and he felt a tugging at his valise. What 
might have been, did not come to the test, but, 
as usual, gave place to what was. 

J ust at this point the engine which had stood 
puffing and snorting, gave a lurch backward, 
imparting its impetus to the whole train. 

The burly German to whom we have before 
referred, being too much under the power of 
liquor and excitement to be over cautious, 
stood leaning against the passenger coach, add- 
ing his stentorian tones by way of command as 
the dignity of his position as proprietor of the 
“tavern” seemed to warrant. Not being any 
too well poised, the moving of the car caused 
him to lose his equilibrium and he fell to the 
ground. In his descent he came in contact 
with little “ Theda,” an Italian boy who acted 
as water carrier to the workmen. 

Little Theda was not equal to the impulse 
communicated by so large a quantity of avoir- 
dupois. A cry rose on the air, and the motley 
group stood appalled, for Theda lay close by the 
ponderous wheel of the car, and his face was 
pale as death. 


238 


TENDING UPWAED. 


For an instant the confusion was stayed. 
No one spoke or moved from his place, and the 
silence was as complete as though no human 
being was near. 

Robert handed his valise to the man who 
stood next to him and crowded his way to the 
place where the boy lay. He raised him in his 
arms and motioning to a man to help him took 
him to the tavern. Even in the midst of this 
excitement he was struck with the thought of 
the power of circumstances to change the cur- 
rent of man’s thought and the direction of his 
act. 

There was not a man in that company but 
that, for the time being, was kindly disposed, 
for Theda was a general favorite. He was a 
handsome boy fifteen years of age, though he 
looked younger, and for a year he had been 
with this company acting as water carrier 
and general errand boy. Rough as these men 
were, they stood as illustrations of the theory 
that the majority of people possess some degree 
of kindliness of heart, which only waits the 
right touch to bring it to the surface. Not one 
among them but had occasion required, would 
have fought for Theda to the last drop of his 
blood. 

The choicest corner of the shanty where 
they slept was reserved for him, and if anybody 


THE STKIKE. 


239 


had to go hungry it was not he. What seemed 
strangest of all, they would not let Theda 
touch a drop of liquor, however much they 
might indulge in it themselves. Had Robert 
been governed by policy he could not have 
done a more politic thing by way of gaining 
favor with these men than by showing kindness 
to Theda. 

But he neither knew nor cared for this. 
His thought was of the necessities of the case. 
No physician was at hand, and no one else 
seemed equal to the occasion and he must act 
as best he could. 

The boy was given the best room the 
house afforded, and Robert soon found that al- 
though he had narrowly escaped being crushed 
under the ponderous wheel, his real injuries 
were slight and in a few days he would be able 
to be about, as usual. This intelligence he 
communicated to the waiting company outside 
the building, and they were now as ready to do 
him homage as they were before to give him 
annoyance. 

Three volunteered to show him on his way, 
and the man who still held his valise suggested 
that the weight of it was too much for a gentle- 
man and he would go along with the others and 
carry it for him, as he had nothing else to do. 

Thus escorted, Robert set out to find the 


240 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


town which was henceforth to be his home and 
the scene of his future labors. This town was 
situated on the open prairie, about a quarter of 
a mile from the railroad station. It had sprung 
up like a mushroom, like so many other western 
towns in the wake of a new railroad, in con- 
sequence of the establishing of a railroad 
station at that point. Its existence had been 
short, but its growth rapid, and each week 
added to this growth and consequent impor- 
tance. 

It consisted of twenty five dwellings — many 
of them small and unpainted ; one store which 
supplied both dry goods and groceries, one boot 
and shoe store which reminded one of a child’s 
play house, a shanty where eatables were adver- 
tized, a blacksmith shop, and last but not least, 
three groggeries. 

A hotel was in process of erection, and a 
schoolhouse was talked of, but had not as yet 
become a certainty. The inhabitants were 
much like the railroad hands as regarded va- 
riety of nationality. About one third were 
American, and the rest were largely Irish, Ger- 
man, Swedes and Norwegians. The charac- 
ter of the inhabitants was largely indicated by 
the preponderance of liquor shops over those of 
any other sort. Robert’s guides were talka- 


THE STRIKE. 


241 


tive, and he gathered much of the history of 
the place as he walked along. 

Much of the land in this vicinity had been 
purchased by a man named Berwick, who had 
had much to do in the locating of the town to 
which his name had been given in honor of 
his services. The largest building in the town 
was used as a boarding house until such time 
as the hotel should be completed and ready for 
use. To this Robert went and secured accom- 
modations for an indefinite length of time. 

He was one of fifteen boarders — a ‘‘ mixed 
multitude,” and not quite the society he would 
have chosen on that particular evening, when 
home associations were so fresh in his mind. 
He sat down to his supper supposing himself 
to be very hungry, but found that fatigue, ex- 
citement and existing circumstances were too 
much for his appetite and he could scarcely eat 
a mouthful. But he was the only one at the 
table who did not do justice to the meal. 

The others divided their attention about 
equally between the eatables, the remarks of 
their neighbors, and an opportunity to express 
their own opinions on the topic under consid- 
eration. 

The strike to which w^e have referred was 
the subject discussed, and, as is usual in such 
cases, opinions varied. Arguments pro and 


242 


TENDING UPWARD. 


con were freely exchanged concerning the ad- 
visability of this method of adjusting difiScul- 
ties in the labor question. 

Robert had noticed a vacant seat at the 
table. 

Turning his eyes toward this seat his nearest 
neighbor remarked : — “ I hope Lorrimer will 
come to-morrow, or he’ll be likely to have 
trouble. Idleness and whiskey don’t improve 
men’s dispositions, and that crew is fierce 
enough to mischief somewhere. The rest of 
us may have to shut up shop if they take a 
notion to have it so.” 

Robert was favorably impressed with the 
man who made these remarks, and after supper 
entered into conversation with him. 

The name “ Lorrimer,” had excited his curi- 
osity. When the question of his assignment to 
a field of labor through the Home Missionary 
Society, was under consideration, he had been 
shown a letter of appeal to this society, bearing 
the signature, Charles Lorrimer, and he won- 
dered whether the person now referred to could 
be he. 

In this letter, after stating the object of the 
correspondence — that of the locating of a Home 
Missionary at Berwick — the writer continued : — 

Send us a live man. One filled with the 
spirit, but not too good to stoop to humanity in 


THE STEIKE. 


243 


its lower forms if thereby he can help toward its 
uplifting. In short — send us a man who com- 
bines pure and undefiled religion with a good 
degree of tact and common sense, for the latter 
are specially desirable qualifications in one who 
will be likely to make the highest success of 
work among the motley inhabitants of a new 
and rapidly growing town. 

“ Men whose primary object is either to make 
money, or to escape the restraints imposed by 
the customs of older towns, are not apt to be over 
anxious to listen to the gospel unless they are 
in some way reached through human influence.” 

The next day the vacant seat ,was filled by 
one to whom Robert was introduced as Mr. 
Lorrimer, and whom he recognized as the man 
who had been pointed out to him on the train 
as the paymaster. 

Charles Lorrimer was a graduate of Yale who 
had found it necessary to go west for the benefit 
of his health, and, not wishing to be idle, he had 
secured the position of paymaster in the rail- 
road company engaged in building the road 
through Berwick. The climate of that region 
seeming to be what was desirable for his restor- 
ation to health, he was at present making Ber- 
wick his home, and seeing the need there for 
missionary work, had aided a missionary of the 
Sunday-School Union in starting a small Sab- 


244 


TENDING UPWAED, 


bath-school for the united study of the Bible, 
and had also taken steps which resulted in 
Robert’s present position. 

Beside him there was only one man in the 
place that was a professing Christian, but there 
were others who had come from Christian 
homes and were in favor of establishing relig- 
ious services in this new town. Several of the 
latter had brought their families with them to 
this town, and wished for them the advantages 
to be derived from the improved state of things 
likely to result through religious influences. 

This was the community in which Robert was 
to commence his labors as a missionary. Com- 
ing as he had done from old eastern towns 
where things in general seemed to exist in such 
a thoroughly established manner, and where 
prevailing moral and religious customs were an 
outgrowth of Christian principles, he could but 
be deeply impressed with the different state of 
things which he found existing in the New 
West. 

He saw the slower, more measured pace ac- 
quired through inherited customs exchanged for 
the push and rush of an eager striving after a 
hoped-for good which the patient and persever- 
ing would realize, while there, as elsewhere, the 
opposite class would reap the disappointment 


THE STRIKE. 


245 


wliicli ever follows in the wake of thriftlessness 
and lack of concentration of purpose. 

He liked the life and the spirit of enterprise 
which characterized the community. It har- 
monized with his youthful ardor and ambition, 
but his heart sank within him as he thought of 
the change in social life which was before him. 
Then he thought of him who exchanged the 
glories of heaven for that earth-life which ter- 
minated on Calvary. The thought inspired him 
with new zeal and higher purpose, and renew- 
edly he laid self upon the altar and went cheer- 
fully forth to his work. 

Those who had the matter in charge had re- 
sponded wisely to the -call for a spiritual man 
possessed of tact and common sense for Ber- 
wick. 

When Robert first looked over the field and 
saw the class of people with whom he had to do, 
much the same feeling came over him as when 
he preached his first sermon in the home church. 
How could he ever reach, in a way to do them 
good, this motley group of people of so many 
nationalities and such diversity of character? 

He thought of Jonah’s call to Nineveh, and 
almost wished for a Tarshish unto which to 
flee. Then his grandmother’s words came to 
him:— “The crying need of the world to-day 
is Christ — Christ as a saviour, a helper and a 


246 


TENDING UPWAED. 


burden bearer. But he felt that not directly 
must he set about preaching Christ in a formal 
way. His ready tact taught him that there was 
preliminary work to be done. 

Some preparation of the soil was indispen- 
sable to the production of their field crops, and 
when their houses were to be builded there was 
the laying of the foundation before the super- 
structure could be reared. Even when the 
timbers and boards were ready they were of 
little use without the little nails which held 
them securely in place. 

So with the work before him. Some prep- 
aration had been made by the Union Sunday- 
school, which must be continued. Hearts must 
be reached or the seed would fall by the way- 
side. 

He recalled a remark made by his grand- 
mother on the evening previous to his leaving 
home : — ‘‘ More than we realize we can reach 
people for good through interest shown in the 
every-day affairs of life, and kindliness of man- 
ner at informal meetings. 

“ Christ used the touch of humanity to draw 
men Godward, and unto his followers he has 
committed that talismanic touch whereby if 
they are themselves consecrated and true, they 
are a felt power in the lives of those around 
them. Then when the moment comes for 


THE STRIKE. 


247 


Speaking the word in season, if they speak it 
in the spirit of the Master, good results are 
pretty sure to follow. 

“Live Christ, Robbie, my boy, and you’ll 
preach with a two-fold power.” 

A good opportunity was afforded Robert for 
the commencement of an acquaintance, by be- 
ing so closely associated with so many at his 
boarding place. Quietly and in an unobtru- 
sive w^ay he soon made these to feel that he had 
their interests at heart, and in general they 
were pleased with the bright young parson. 

He visited the various places of business, 
showing an interest in the success of each, and 
had been invited to call at several of the homes 
before the close of his first week. 

His first Sabbath in his new field was a mem- 
orable one. 

No religious* service except the Sabbath- 
school had previously been held in the town. 
Arrangements had been made for the use of a 
room in the hotel which was in process of erec- 
tion, in which to hold Sunday services until 
better accommodations were provided, and here 
Robert preached his first sermon in Berwick. 

The room was unfinished, and rough boards 
placed on blocks of wood, answered instead of 
upholstered seats. The pulpit was a tempor- 
ary, raised platform, with an old fashioned, 


248 


TENDING UPWARD. 


four-cornered stand for a desk, and a common 
kitchen chair for a seat. The room was well filled, 
for “ preaching ” was a novelty. A few came 
drawn by a pure desire to worship ; others be- 
cause it seemed homelike and reminded them 
of the past. Not a few were drawn by curi- 
osity, and some came just because they liked 
the “ parson.” 

Among the latter were several of the rail- 
road hands who, the strike being adjusted, had 
quietly returned to their work. To the fastid- 
ious eye of Robert who was only accustomed 
to the audiences of older towns, this was a 
grotesque company. 

Some were dressed in costumes which had 
recently passed for style, in the various towns 
from which they came, while beside them sat 
Swedes and Norwegians who had not yet laid 
aside the costumes of the Fatherland. 

A group of Germans had taken a corner by 
themselves, and few Irish of both sexes were 
scattered here and there through the audience. 
Robert took much pains to speak to the people 
as they came in, and all seemed pleased at his 
friendly greeting. After an earnest invocation 
for the presence of the Spirit, there followed a 
service of song in which all were invited to 
join. 

Selections of hymns were chosen — those 


THE STKTKE. 


249 


hymns which are familiar from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific. Robert was a fine singer, as was 
also Mr. Lorrimer. The first piece they sang 
alone, but as tliey started out on “ Scatter 
Seeds of Kindness ” a sweet childish voice 
struck in with telling effect. She was a scholar 
in the little Sunday-school. 

Then another and another ventured to add 
his or her voice until- quite a satisfactory choir 
was obtained, all of Sunday-school scholars. 
Robert watched his audience closely and saw 
that the service of song was a step in the right 
direction. 

There was not one in the room who did not 
seem irlterested and when the little girl began 
to sing, he noticed a tear on the cheek of a 
rough looking old German among the railroad 
hands, who did not look as though any thing 
would make him weep. 

He took for his text the passage : — “ God so 
loved the world that he gave his only begotten 
Son, that whosoever believeth on him might 
not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

His sermon was no attempt at rhetorical dis- 
play — only a plain, simple, earnest talk concern- 
ing the love of God, and its great results. He 
drew illustrations for his theme from the every- 
day affairs of life, and, step by step, led them 


250 


TENDING UPWARD. 


on to the great sacrificial atonement indicated 
by the words : — “Gave his only begotten Son.” 

Then he enforced the truth contained in the 
clause, “Whosoever believeth.” Here he used 
the illustration of Dixie in the ravine — running 
restlessly back and forth with piteous bleat, 
neglectful of the one way of escape from his 
prison, until in obedience to the call, he took 
the path to safety and enjoyment. 

From this illustration he turned to man in 
his restless search and longing for unsatisfying 
earthly good, and the hopelessness of his case 
until, hearing the voice of the divine Shep- 
herd, he listened to the call and became one of 
those included in the expression, “Whosever 
belie veth.” 

At the close of the service, feeling that he 
had perhaps, said enough for once, he thought 
to let the congregation disperse and then go 
quietly to his room. 

As he stood watching the people file out of 
the single door, he heard a voice near him re- 
mark : — “ Fine preachin’ that. That sheep 
story’s true to natur. Why, I’ve seen it a 
hundered times, how the lost lamb ’ll act jest 
as he said,” — and his neighbor responded : — “ I 
dunno much about sheep, but I tell ye he drew 
the picture mighty close to real life in his ap- 
plication. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE WEDDING. 

“ Hear the mellow wedding bells.” 

rpHINGS were not moving with quite their 
usual method and quietness at Grove Farm. 
For some weeks, there had been what Fred 
termed much flutter and fuss in the line of 
dry goods,” and a number of seamstresses have 
been employed on what is reported to be Ar- 
minta’s wedding outfit. Granny Maxin, too, 
has for some time been busy in putting the 
house in order, the meantime muttering to her- 
self that she didn’t see any particular use in 
going all over that house again in so short a 
time since she finished the spring cleaning, if 
only them dressmaker women would be more 
careful about makin’ a muss. 

After the last curtain was adjusted to her 
liking and every rug in order, she turned her 
attention to the wedding feast. We can scarcely 
wonder that she should be just a trifle sensitive 
over the fact that some of the cake was to be 
ordered from the city, but she spoke of it to 
no one but Aunt Hannah, and that good soul 

( 251 ) 


252 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


had a way of putting the matter that made it 
seem the proper thing to do, even to her. 

It was the evening before the wedding day. 
The last stitch had been taken in the wedding 
garments. Trunks were packed for journeying, 
the wedding feast awaited the morrow, and 
quiet had settled down over the farm house. 

Arminta had been from room to room for the 
twofold purpose of seeing that nothing had 
been omitted that should have been done, and 
to bid adieu to her childhood home, while she 
could do so unobserved. This done, she seated 
herself by an open window of the parlor, 
awaiting the coming of Robert for their last 
evening together in the old familiar place. 
Mingled emotions were hers. First came the 
sorrow of leaving friends, especially the home 
circle; but this was lessened by the thought 
that Lilian was in every way competent to fill 
her place in the home circle. Then she goes 
back over the past, dwelling upon the way in 
which God has led her. 

She thought of her early dreams and ambi- 
tious hopes and of what seemed their blasting 
and defeat ; but now she saw that the hand 
that had led her had been the safe guide. 
Without the discipline through which she had 
been called to pass she would have been selfish, 
cold and unfeeling. She would have wrapped 


THE WEDDING. 


253 


the cloak of self-satisfaction about her and 
gone forth into life desirous to do good, but 
sadly lacking as to method. 

She felt that she had still much to learn ere 
her life would be a real success, but he who 
had helped her hitherto, would he not be her 
guide unto the end? 

Over against the pain of partings was set the 
joy of the “ until death do us part ” to be 
used on the morrow, concerning herself and 
Robert; a life-time of shared joy, sorrow and 
service with him who was dearer to her than life. 
Would she be equal to this — his companion in 
his glorious work of holding up Christ to men? 
— his comfort in sorrow, cheerful in the hour 
of discouragement, and strong in the hour of 
his need ? 

She had reached this point when there was a 
low rap at the door and Fred entered. He took 
a seat beside his sister, and putting his arm 
around her neck he bowed his head on her 
shoulder arid wept, just as he used to do when 
a child when something went wrong with him. 

Each understood the other, and for a time 
neither spoke. Then, suddenly rising, Fred 
exclaimed with his usual gayety of tone : — 
‘‘Well there. Sister Min! that’s done with. 
Now I’m ready for the. wedding cake: ” and to 


254 


TENDING UPWAKD. 


the last good-bye, he showed no further sign of 
emotion. 

The wedding day dawned bright arid clear, 
and there seemed nothing to dim the brightness 
or cast over it a shadow. Guests were numer- 
ous and presents many and rare. The solemn 
words were said that made two who had long 
been one in love and sympathy, one in the sight 
of men, through the holy bond forbidden unto 
man to sever, and ’mid a shower of good wishes, 
in which rice was mingled, they left the house 
for the carriage which was to take them to the 
depot. 

Just as Arminta was about to enter the car- 
riage, Dixie appeared upon the scene. 

His wool, which was long, had been washed 
to a snowy whiteness, around his neck was a 
wreath of flowers tied with a ribbon, and lightly 
fastened to his horns by ribbons was a silver 
crescent with the inscription “ My sheep hear 
my voice, and I know them and they follow 
me.” 

Arminta put out her hand to give Dixie his 
farewell petting, while Fred slipped his offering 
from its fastenings and handed it to the bride. 
Then Dixie, frightened by the unusual confu- 
sion, bounded away and was soon grazing 
quietly in his pasture, while Arminta had hard 


THE WEDDING. 


255 


work to decide between smiles and tears as the 
carriage rolled away. 

* ^ sK jji 

• A year has elapsed since Robert preached his 
first sermon in Berwick — a year of change and ^ 
growth. The population now numbers three 
hundred. The town has taken on much larger 
proportions, and still continues to grow. The 
school house talked of has become a fact, and 
the foundations of a church building are being 
laid. A church has been organized — at first 
consisting of seven members, but now having 
attained unto the number of twenty. 

Even this stirring little town seemed more 
than usually alive one Saturday afternoon, and 
as the time for the arrival of the train draws 
near it is noted that workmen lay aside their 
tools and leave their places, but soon re appear 
in Sunday suits and hasten to the depot. 

The train moves in and Robert looks out on 
a crowd quite different from the one which met 
him on his first arrival. There are women and 
children in holiday attire, waiting to meet the 
bride, and men with lifted hats stand respect- 
fully aside to let the group pass, answering 
back most cordially Robert’s pleasant greeting, 
and waiting to render any kindness within 
their power. 

The group referred to consists of three mem- 


256 


TENDING UPWARD. 


bers, for Aunt Hannah has come to share 
Robert’s home. 

To her it seems as a new lease of life to be 
set down again in a new country, and she re- 
lives the days when she and ‘‘ Zekiel ” first 
went to their new home on the western prairie. 

Robert and Arminta enter upon their life- 
work joined heart and hand in their conse- 
crated purpose to spend and be spent in the 
service of the Master, and here we leave them, 
judging of the probable result of their labors 
from what we know of their lives and char- 
acters, combined with the Scripture : — ‘‘ He 
that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious 
seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, 
bringing his sheaves with him.” 

Lilian takes up the work laid down by Ar- 
minta in a manner which indicates that not 
only will her father’s declining years be made 
happy, but church and society will also feel her 
influence for good, as they have done in the 
case of her sister, for the mantle of the mother 
seems to have fallen upon both the daughters. 

Dr. Fred sets Lilian off in merry peals of 
laughter as he grasps his medicine case, puts on 
a grave and all- knowing look and insists on 
counting her pulse, and after suggesting all 
sorts of improbabilities in the questions which 


THE WEDDING. 


257 


he puts, solemnly states some unheard-of dis- 
ease as her ailment, and prescribes a ride with 
him that very morning as an indispensable con- 
dition to her recovery, while he makes a call 
upon a patient with whom he has been in- 
trusted by the physician with whom he is 
studying. 

His future we leave to be chronicled by the 
historian who shall feel disposed to write the 
history of one who bids fair not only to become 
popular, but useful as well, in his chosen pro- 
fession. 

His last recorded act is explained by the fact 
that one morning an expressman set down a 
large box on the door step of the Berwick par- 
sonage. What it contained was a mystery at 
first, but the discovery was soon made that it 
was occupied by Dixie — “ large as life,’’ and 
quite as natural. 

Arminta wept tears of joy, just as Fred ex- 
pected she would when she saw her old pet. 
He knew that it would seem to her a bit of the 
home life, and this thought had lain back of 
the fun which prompted the sending. 

Dixie quite rivaled ‘‘ Mary’s little lamb ” by 
way of historic fame. He soon became a great 
favorite with the children, and was allowed 
favors by their elders until there was no greater 
pet in the town than Mrs. Sinton’s Dixie. 









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